#hell maybe he's not just trying to scam people

[truly-morgan]

Mob Psycho 100 x Willy Wonka Experience AU

featuring

Mob - Wonkidoodle

Ekubo - Willy McDuff

Serizawa - The Unknown

Reigen going into a shady business venture, trying to make some money out of the new movie everyone is talking about featuring the candy maker.

please also enjoy some bonus:

Mob: Shisho, why do I get a dress? Don't the… oompa loompa? Have male outfits?

Reigen: Well, Tome decided she couldn't help anymore and I couldn't find any male version in your size. You two are similarly sized! So it's perfect!

Mob: 😐💢

=============

Ekubo: what the fuck even is this script? We could have you disappear with powers, but it still makes no sense?!?

Serizawa: please don't make me disappear inside a vacuum

Eekubo: go back behind the mirror

=============

Ekubo: Shigeo, I think the idiot said only one jelly bean per child, we kind of really don't have many of them

Mob: Shisho will just need to buy more 😐

=============

The one who calls the cops on the whole event is Ritsu, who volunteered (aka took pity on nii-san and accepted to work at the sad candy table). He decided he had enough of seeing the three other espers working their ass off to make it as fun as possible despite how disappointed the children are or angry the parents are.

The second employee (volunteer! There's no pay for volunteer!) is Sho, who received live updates from Ritsu's POV and decided this was hilarious and he needed to be there.

I think Reigen would somehow manage to worm his way out of the mess he created for himself. It causes problems for his S&S office because people associate it with the failed event, but his face is never shown so he lies about it all.

He swears to never try something like this again though.

=============

Just thought about some more actually:

Mob's green hair is him being forced to use some green spray dye for them. He will definitely get in trouble with teachers because Reigen got the wrong kind of spray and this one doesn't wash off easily.

[ozzgin]

Thank you Ozzy for your quick response, your idea just sparked my passion! I got another one, maybe you'll like this one too: By luck, one of the monsters gained access to the human Internet. He can't believe his luck, especially when he finds out that among people there are those who prefer monsters! Or at least interested in trying it! He understands that this is a one in a million chance and, since he has zero social skills and his brain is intoxicated with happiness, he begins to write to people in an attempt to get to know each other. Of course, not everything goes well, but he is determined to find someone who will believe him!.. And who will agree to meet in a dark alley on the border of the worlds, where a person could theoretically end up in the dimension of monsters. Go straight to visit him!

I feel like this could be its own story, independent from the monster author! Here, put on the dealer's trench coat. Go join the kimono anon.

And...connect.

He gawks in disbelief. Did he really just access the human Internet? It could very well be a scam. He clicks on a link, then another, then another. Thousands and thousands of pages, profiles, images, news. No monster could orchestrate such a complex prank. This has to be the real deal.

He rapidly scans the lines of text, overwhelmed. He didn't expect such a colossal influx of information. He wanted to know more about humans, of course, but this...where to start? Where to look? At last, his reptile eyes rest on a particular post:

Am I the only one who finds the monster character hot?

The comments are filled with people agreeing and offering other examples. The term 'monster fucker' is frequent. He hums to himself, a shiver of excitement running down his spine. His thick tail sways from side to side, restless.

Not only has he found an opening to the human world, but there are humans who would consider mating with him? He's almost tempted to ask his fellow beastly friend if he's dreaming or hallucinating, but he won't: this is his secret, a chance too fantastic to be shared with anyone else.

The one problem - to his despair - is that no one will believe him when he introduces himself as a monster. At best, he's accused of having a strange humor. At worst, he's called a creep.

Only one person has agreed to meet him. You. Why not, you asked yourself with ridiculous indifference and calm. If he's lying, you can just go home. If he isn't, you get laid by a nightmarish creature like you always dreamed of.

He paces back and forth, occasionally glancing ahead. You should be here soon. Lord Cthulhu, he can barely contain himself. What if you reject him? You wouldn't. You can't do this to him.

At last, he sees you approaching from a distance. Stunning. Adorable. Breedable. There's no way in the great Hells that he's letting you go now.

[More Monsters]

[tremendouscreationperson]

A few of you wanted a part three so here goes

Reader gets called Doll and Toots but other than that I think it's pretty GN

Part 1 Part 2

Ford - no Stan - had spun his tale. You weren't sure any of it could be possible. How was you supposed to believe that Ford was alive but not in this universe/realm/reality?

You sat in the lab he had brought you to - it was cold and dank, stark lights illuminated metal plates and cascaded up the walls to show off a large triangular 'portal'.

"Why'd you have to die?" You asked, eyes glued to the journal upon your knees.

For-Stan had been waiting for any questions, willing to provide you answers. "Seemed easier."

"And lying to me?" You flicked through the stained pages. "That was easy?"

"It wasn't." He told you honestly, just hearing his voice was crazy. You had believed he was dead for two years and he wasn't! He was here the whole time. "Gotta admit, I had you fooled."

The attempt at a joke was not humourous in the slightest. "This isn't normal behaviour."

Stanley didn't know what else to do. He hadn't thought you would ever realise, perhaps that was stupid on his part but he really thought he was able to coexist with you as Ford.

"So..." You took a deep breath. "Recap: this is Ford's journal and he wanted you to take it away and you both argued and he got sucked into that thing and now you're him and Stan is dead and you're trying to get him back?"

Stan nodded, twiddling his thumbs. "Yeah. It's been hard, I had to relearn math."

"Who else wrote in here?"

"Huh?"

You pointed at the page. "That's not Ford's handwriting. Although look, 'ford' signed it." A humourless chuckle escaped. "Who else is pretending to be your brother?"

Stan was at your side in an instant, looking over your shoulder. Being so close to him was maddening.

He was alive.

Your Stan was alive.

Yeah, maybe he was a fraud and there was weird space mumbo jumbo that you still don't entirely believe but he was alive.

Your face was turned towards him as he studied the page, his fingers grazing yours underneath the words. How did he look like him now?

You didn't see Ford in him at all.

The way he stood, his neutral expression, even his hair was different. Was Stanley.

"I didn't notice that." He spoke lowly due to the proximity.

"Is there anyone else in the town called Ford?"

Stan's gaze landed on you, his nose inches from yours and he opened his mouth to speak before closing it and just observing you. He really took you in.

Despite the lies you were still here. Still entertaining this. He really wished he had more to offer you but he didn't.

He was just him. He wasn't his brilliant brother or full of mysteries or answers. He was just Stan, a con artist who scammed people daily.

"I don't know." The words finally left his mouth and he quickly stood upright.

~~

Rather than leaving tonight, you had stayed longer because of the news, calling in sick at work, how often could you say someone had come back from the dead?

The two of you ate half the pasta you made, sitting awkwardly opposite each other at the table.

He had been open and honest, answering all of your questions keenly and encouraging you to ask more. And you had to admit that was nice but the news still sat heavily on your shoulders.

Mostly because: FUCKING HELL THIS WAS CRAZY and a slither of: you had told FORD THAT YOU LOVED STANLEY AND BROUGHT HIM UP IN MANY CONVERSATIONS AND HE WAS THE ONE YOU WERE TALKING TO AND YOY WERE EMBARRASSED AS FUCK BUT YOU NEEDED TO HELP AND HDJAKSIEIES

"You, er.. you okay?" Stan toyed with a meatball.

"It's just a lot to process." That wasn't a lie. "I'll probably be like this for a few days."

He gave you a sincere smile, "take your time, do-"

Your eyes snapped up to his pink face. "Were you going to call me doll?" He nodded in affirmative, his ears reddening as well. You weren't sure why but you spared him with: "Hmm, better than toots."

"That was one time!" He insisted.

"That's all it took."

"I only said it to piss you off." He smirked cheekily, his face returning to its usual hue.

"It worked." Rolling your eyes as you giggled. You didn't hold any real malice, he was being cocky demonstrating his pick up moves and they did not work... Well they did but it was easier to pass off your hot face and wide eyes as anger rather than awe.

Stan laughed along with you, enjoying the sound. Loving how easy it was to just be himself. He didn't have to wear the gloves which made everything impossible, he didn't have to act stiff and drop big words into his 'lexicon', and he didn't have to lie. He could be himself.

He knows he doesn't deserve this, by God he knows that, but he would take all you'd willingly give; if that was just dinner before you drove away forever then he would take it and be thankful for the time.

"Want a beer?" He found himself asking.

You didn't reply straight away, ideas tumbling around your head. He loved watching your mind work. "Got anything stronger?"

Stan winked and disappeared to get the whiskey he'd stashed away.

And so the two of you found yourselves sitting on his 'balcony' (a little ledge, that you had to climb through a window to access, underneath the 'mystery shack' sign) forgoing glasses and passing the bottle between you.

"Must feel good to tell someone." Your words slurred as you laid on your spine, staring at the stars beyond the trees.

"It does." He took a sip. "Feel bad that it was you though."

You swivelled your neck to give him a confused face. He bellowed out a laugh. "Oit, don't laugh at me." Your socked toe jabbed his thigh.

Stan placed a hand over your foot, just holding it, forcing your hips to manoeuvre into a more comfortable position. You faced him as he watched the treeline. "Sorry to drag you into this."

"Sorry I didn't notice sooner." How didn't you? He was clearly Stan. There was nothing here that said Ford. "You're so obviously my Stan." You rolled your eyes and folded your arms in annoyance at yourself.

Stan's brows shot up and he turned to catch you grumbling at yourself. "Your Stan?"

Your eyebrows met and you scrunched your face in confusion again. "What?"

"You said 'my Stan'." His lips began to lift into the smuggest smirk as he leaned forward, entering your bubble. "I didn't realise I was your Stan."

"Shut up." You playfully pushed him away. "We're drunk, you don't know what you heard."

Stan didn't let up, instead he found your hand and intertwined your fingers. "I kinda like being someone's Stan." He spoke with a half shrug.

You couldn't believe what you were hearing. Was this a dream fueled by your longing and whiskey? "Well, you know how I feel because you were spying on me! Pretending to be Ford to hear what I had to say about you!"

"Hey, I told you Stan liked you too!" He defended.

"Do-" You paused. When did the two of you get so close? You were nose to nose. "Does Stan still feel that w-"

You weren't given a chance to finish the question because his lips were on yours. He kissed you slowly, one palm on your cheek as the other wound around your spine, pulling you in close. Your hands were pinned against his chest as you kissed him back enthusiastically.

Stan's slow kisses morphed into an intense make out session as he ran his tongue across your bottom lip and you gave him access. His hands exploring all over your body, squeezing and caressing your sides and chest causing your spine to curve.

The two of you were buzzing and the kiss was a little sloppy but it was perfect. You wouldn't want it any other way.

He finally allowed the two of you a breather, kissing his way down your neck, nipping and sucking the sensitive flesh. You squirmed again, back arching as a whispered moan tumbled from you.

That sobered him up, Stan raised his head from your neck, looking down at you and saw the needy look in your eyes. "Maybe we should wait 'til we're not blitzed."

The automatic frown you wore had him chuckling as you pulled his face back to yours, kissing him with as much vigour as you could muster.

Stan bit your bottom lip and his fingers settled on your thighs, how he managed to find himself in between them he didn't know but you pulled him closer with your legs and he had to pinch himself.

This was real.

All the shit he had done.

Every scam, every fraud, every crime, everything.

And you still looked at him with those eyes.

Fuck.

Maybe he loved you.

.

.

.

@aratheegreat @ngs991-2 @seahorrorz @misty-eyed-memory @50shadesofwinchesters @ryoiii @viceroywrites @atseoks @countlessimagines @aweleyirene @hesthermay @darlingdia1007 @piningforstan @emmygirl33 @imafangirlofeverything @daniel-meyer-03

.

.

I work in a DIY shop and this is what I had to look at for the majority of my shift 😂😭 he haunts me

[nat-without-a-g]

You know who he CAN try to kill to get out his anger while doing the only thing he knows how to do?

SCAM ACTUALLY FOR THAT PROPHECY SCAM

so how do we think Lark is doing after getting back from Heaven? like of course he's happy that everyone is safe, but...

the prophecy was a lie. Hero and Normal never needed to be trained. they never needed to be in DADDIES HQ. code purple could have been avoided.

more than that though, Lark was hoping so bad that he could redeem himself for unleashing the Doodler by killing it. but he didn't manage to do that, and a group of kids saved the day instead. the thing he dedicated his entire life to is over. there's one thing he's good at, killing monsters, and there aren't monsters to hunt anymore. I just can't imagine he's handling any of it particularly well.

[hoe4hotchner]

Forever is all we need | [A.H]

Pairing: Old person!AU - Aaron Hotchner x fem!Reader | WC: 1.4k  | CW: it's pure fluff unless you're scared of old people and reminiscing | Summary: After a whole life spent together you reminisce about your time together |

The sound of the clock ticking echoed gently in the small, sunlit room. You sat side by side with Aaron, both of you comfortable in the well-worn armchairs, worn as much by time as by the weight of all you’d shared over the years. There was a quietness to the day — one that only came when you’d lived long enough to savor every moment, knowing you wouldn’t trade even the hardest ones for anything.

Aaron’s hand was a little rougher now, the scars and calluses painting a map of the years gone by, but it still felt so familiar and so right, resting comfortably intertwined with yours. A breeze stirred the curtains, and you smiled as it brushed lightly against your cheek, bringing with it the scent of freshly cut grass from your garden outside. Jack usually came around in the summer when it was time to trim the hedge, the clippers a little too heavy for either of you to carry in your old age.

Aaron turned to you with that warm, soft look that, even after all these years, still made your heart flutter. “Remember that time in Paris?” he murmured, his voice softened but still carrying the authority it always had and maybe always would. “We took that impromptu trip after the case wrapped. You were so set on finding that bakery you’d read about.” His lips turned up in a faint smile, recalling the stubborn determination you’d shown on the streets of Montmartre, marching ahead of him with only a half-working GPS to guide you and constantly being stopped by various vendors trying to scam you into buying their bracelets and knickknacks — but one famous Hotchner stare behind you kept them at bay.

“Oh, I remember,” you chuckled, squeezing his hand. “And I remember someone who got all flustered when they found out they’d put a little too much rum in that éclair.”

He laughed softly, a rumble that seemed to shake loose the memories stored in both of you. “I just wasn’t expecting it — that’s all,” he teased. But there was a glint in his eye, a mischievous glint that sometimes still surfaced when he remembered those stolen moments, the ones tucked away between cases, when it was just the two of you against the world.

You glanced over at the photos decorating the wall across from you. There was one of you both on your wedding day, younger and dressed in a suit and gown. Next to it, a framed photo of Jack grinning ear to ear, standing proudly beside Aaron in his BAU vest — a reminder of a time when you were both juggling parenthood and the work that kept calling you away — you had always been thankful for Jessica’s continuous involvement with Jack, especially at that point in your life.

“Jack Facetimed earlier, you know,” you smiled, nudging him gently. “He told me about his new case and his little ones. You should have seen the look on his face — he’s so proud of those kids.”

Aaron’s eyes softened further, his face creasing. “I hope he knows just how proud I am of him,” he murmured. “And of us. We had one hell of a run, didn’t we?”

You nodded, resting your head against his shoulder as silence fell between you. You thought about the cases you worked, the late nights, and the early mornings. You remembered the hospital rooms, the goodbyes that felt impossible to bear, and the homecomings that made it all worth it. But most of all, you remembered moments like this — quiet, tender, and forever etched into the spaces between your heartbeats.

“Every moment,” you whispered, and Aaron shifted just enough to press a kiss to the top of your head.

As you leaned into Aaron, memories began to resurface of a night years ago — one that marked the end of an era and the beginning of another. Aaron’s thumb drew slow circles over your hand, and you smiled, thinking of that night, feeling it as fresh as if it had happened only yesterday.

“You remember our retirement party?” you asked softly, not wanting to break the peace around you.

Aaron’s lips turned in a fond smile, his eyes drifting to the ceiling as if he could see the memories play out right above your heads. “How could I forget?” he chuckled, his voice warm with nostalgia. “They had that huge banner with our names printed in the largest font they could find, as if we needed more attention.”

You both laughed, remembering Garcia’s handiwork — the bright colors and over-the-top decorations that covered every corner of the bullpen. The “Happy Retirement” banner had been a vibrant and glittery display that Strauss would have considered too much and a waste of company time — if she had been alive to see it. But it had suited the occasion: two legendary agents, walking away from a lifetime of service with a legacy that would live on in stories passed down through the next generations of the BAU.

“And Rossi,” you added with a grin, “insisting on the finest champagne, saying ‘It’s not every day we send off two of the best agents this place has ever had.’” You could still picture Rossi’s delighted expression as he raised his glass, giving a toast so full of warmth and admiration that you hadn’t been able to keep the tears from welling up — you were happy that he had made it to the party, having retired years before you and Aaron.

Aaron chuckled, shaking his head. “And then Derek made that speech. Remember? He kept teasing me about how you were the real brains behind the BAU, and I was just the one who looked good in a suit.”

“Oh, I remember,” you laughed, reaching up to brush a stray lock of gray from his forehead. “And you blushed for the first time in… well, I think it was ever.”

“Only because you kept smiling at me like that,” he countered, the smile on his face turning tender, those dark eyes still holding that spark as the day you first met.

You looked back at the photos on the wall, seeing Jack’s young face grinning at you, frozen in time. It had been his news that had finally made the decision for both of you: the day he’d called you, the excitement in his voice uncontainable as he told you and Aaron that you were going to be grandparents. After years of weighing the question, the answer had finally felt clear. The job that had demanded so much had finally been put aside for something that called to both of you even more greatly.

“Jack didn’t know what to make of all the fuss,” you mused. “Poor thing — he’d come down from the nursery just to find a whole crowd of agents toasting us and talking about cases he probably didn’t even want to remember.”

Aaron chuckled, nodding. “But he was there, right by our side, even when the stories started getting more dramatic.” He sighed contentedly, thinking back on that night. “He was so proud, wasn’t he?”

The image of Jack, standing tall with that smile that mirrored Aaron’s in so many ways, made your heart ache. “He was,” you said softly. “And seeing him holding his baby girl… well, that was worth every minute of this life, wasn’t it?”

Aaron nodded, his gaze distant but warm. “It was. And then he went on about how he hoped to be as good a parent as I was.” His voice grew quieter. “I don’t think he knows how much that meant to me.”

You took his hand, bringing it to your lips and pressing a kiss to his knuckles, feeling the warmth of all the years that hand had held you through. “He knew,” you murmured. “And so did I.”

You both fell back into that memory, savoring the details — the laughter, the faces, the hugs, and the countless toasts that night as the BAU celebrated you.

And as you looked into Aaron’s eyes, you knew that this life you’d built together had been so much more than just a career, or even a family — it had been a love story, woven through every moment, every laugh, every case, and every goodbye.

“Forever doesn’t seem long enough,” he whispered, his thumb tracing gentle circles over the back of your hand.

"Lucky for us, forever’s all we need.”

[feroluce]

SO LIKE. As much as I roll with the Emanator of Elation Sampo theory, I do have. Some doubts about this specific instance of it. Not that I think Boothill is lying, or that I think Sampo isn't an Emanator, but I wonder if the person Boothill actually met was Sampo.

Just! Sampo is so careful. The only reason we even knew he wasn't of Belobog was due to a dialogue-dependent fourth wall-breaking dream sequence that no other character could have seen. It took a missable dream bubble in an out-of-the-way spot that was seemingly left only for the trailblazer at the very end of a side mission just to confirm him as a Masked Fool. Like it's not just the fact that Boothill mentions this person being an Emanator. It's that he knows they're also a Masked Fool, which is also something Sampo is incredibly dodgy about. Sparkle even seems to call him out on this in her party join line fjkdjaskldj

((But also, Boothill, baby. WHY were you trying to get them drunk????))

And regardless of if you believe him when he calls himself an old timer, he obviously has a lot of experience in doing what he does. He knows what he's doing, he's good at it, and he is viciously capable and competent, unfortunately for his victims smhznskdn

So it just. Feels very unlike him, for him to let his guard down enough to not only let himself get drunk in front of Boothill-

a total stranger btw whom Sampo has absolutely no reason to trust, and a dangerous Galaxy Ranger to boot who has plenty of blood on his hands and a significant bounty on his head

-but to get SO drunk that he lets loose the secret that he's an Emanator.

When Boothill brings this up, he mentions that if Emanators were obvious and known at a glance, it would lead to atrocities. And for as much as Sampo is disliked by his victims (there's an entire anti-Sampo organization in Belobog JFDKLASJFDL), it's all for fraud. He's wanted by the IPC as an intergalactic thief. He scams people out of their money, and only rich people at that. That's mostly all that he's known for. Nothing he does is violent, even though Sampo surely has the capacity to inflict a lot of harm.

And I don't mean that he's exactly a pacifist or anything; Firefly comments that Sampo seems like a highly skilled covert fighter. His voicelines make it sound like he enjoys combat- hell, his ult line makes him sound like a hitman. I like to hc him as being a pretty high ranker in the fighting rings at the World's End Tavern, like we see in the Simulated Universe occurrences.

But I don't think he would enjoy being the cause of uncontrollable violence and bloodshed.

Like yeah he's a dick who scams people on the regs for funsies, but he has lines he refuses to cross, which we see a lot of in how he interacts with Sparkle. More than just not enjoying it, I think he would hate it if he were found out and it caused an incident, especially since he seems so endeared to Belobog and her people now and it looks like he plans to return there. He wouldn't want to bring any of that back to them.

So I just can't imagine him carelessly fucking up bad enough to out himself to a random stranger that could easily put a bullet right through his head.

Sparkle maybe could, though.

Because as we find out later the dreamscape had expanded FAR beyond what it seemed, far enough that the trailblazer had been dreaming since the warp jump in. Most people enter it unknowingly, and don't realize they're already dreaming when they think they're still awake. Boothill and Dan Heng should have already been dreaming during their exchange on the Express that started all this.

And as long as someone knows they're dreaming, completely changing their appearance is easy, even for the common layman. We see this with a couple of NPCs and also Sparkle herself, with her (in)famous impression of Sampo.

Thank youuuuu Sparkle

And yeah, the trailblazer and almost all of the other characters wouldn't know about the expansion until near the very end. None of them realized they were dreaming even outside of their dream pools, and surely none of them would think to be suspicious of another person's appearance outside of the dreamscape like that.

But Sparkle has a script from Silver Wolf.

She knew all the secrets of the dreamscape, and she knew them from the very beginning. There would have been nothing stopping her from appearing as Sampo in front of Boothill and spilling all his secrets.

And she apparently has a long-standing history with Sampo, including trying to get him in on her own much more fiery and aggressive version of Elation.

Maybe all Sampo needs is to be outed as an Emanator, and then when all the violence and bloodshed catches up to him, then he'll finally understand! ദ്ദി(｡•̀ ,<)~✩

[thatnonameuser]

Ooh hearing about the events in your Yandere au, I can only imagine how fed up MC is by the time of Playful Land that, when they’re all locked in, I can just imagine her immediately joining Jade and Lilia in trying to destroy the locks. If only to have something to vent all her anger and frustrations on which promptly bites her in the butt via puppetification.

Especially after a day of running from one group to another and having forced, sort of date moments with the various boys. Vil and Floyd instantly locking in on the “order the losers around” during the pool game that MC’s like “I’m in danger we HAVE to win”. There will nearly be a brawl on who gets to sit next to MC and multiple folks glaring at Grim for smugly sitting in her lap. At least Rave Up is far less annoying song than Neige’s when she’s forced up on stage with the gang.

Wonder if Fellow would be more of a platonic yandere towards MC, and possibly one to Gidel too, taking extreme lengths to make sure Gidel’s cared for and protected.

I imagine she saw straight through Fellow’s free ticket scam  and didn’t want to go like the other rational people, but Grim wanted to and she got dragged into it. 

And the ‘date’ moments. At this point the MC is fed up with all the drama and chaos of being the darling to so, SO many yanderes, so she’s just completely numb to their shenanigans.

So she goes on the ‘dates’ begrudgingly. 

The rollercoaster, there’s fighting on who gets to sit next to her. She argues that if they don’t calm down and figure out where everyone sits like rational people, she won’t ride at all. So they play rock-paper-scissors for it. And yes, Grim sits on her lap. (She regrets that, because Grim had a bright idea to try and eat the tuna, but Grim is better than any of the others.)

The game area, she gets roped into that bet and while she’s terrified of losing, she can’t deny the wonderful possibility of ordering the losers to leave her the hell alone. So obviously she’s on Ortho’s team, after seeing him play so perfectly. Victory is sweet when it saves her mental health.

The most fun she’ll probably have is with the last group in the Seabed Stroll, mostly because it’s with two of the more chill yanderes (and Leona’s there too) and the attraction was cool. Also she’ll laugh her butt off watching Jack and Leona riding the merry-go-round. 

While the MC avoids being on stage like the plague after the VDC, she does have a little fun with that, Maybe that’s what relaxes her fears about Playful Land.

(But first imagine if Playful Land had a Tunnel of Love, the fight that would have broken out definitely would have destroyed the park)

Only to be proved completely right after they get locked in. And then after they get locked in, she immediately tries to break the locks to escape, and only to realize she can’t move and becoming very, very panicked at the realization that she’s at the mercy of either the kidnappers or her very, very obsessed yanderes. (she picks the kidnappers BTW, it's the lesser of two evils).

Obviously, she gets her own cage as a puppet. After all, you’re the best out of all of them in the eyes of the Fellow and Gidel, and you would fetch a high price if the boss sold you.

But to amend the yandere types, I orginally wrote a romantic yandere for Fellow/Ernesto, (check the masterlist) but platonic also works too. Maybe he lets her out because ‘she’s not one of the other NRC students so his boss doesn’t want her’ but actually because he’s more interested with keeping her out of being a puppet slave for the rest of her life, and that the boys deserve it for what they put her through. But since she tried to run for it, she gets to be a puppet for now until the trade off is over with.

Think that’s all I’m gonna say for now till I get around to doing that event. Thanks for asking, anyways!

[signedkoko]

HII I have been reading your writing for a while now and I lOVE IT! I've been waiting to put in a req when they got open sooo! (Your writing always makes me hAPPYY when they come out) <33 Any chance of an Overlord!GN reader with Mammon / Striker? Just general romantic Headcannons- Like how it is to date them/everyday stuff with them (The reader is always serious (and tall 👀) and owns a big casino in pride (Maybe Mammon taking interest in it? idk))

Mammon | Striker [Romantic]

In which you are their overlord s/o that owns the largest casino in the pride ring. Reader is genderneutral.

The guy looks like a total clown next to you

And he is, but he loses any sense of danger when he's standing next to you, who happens to be just a few inches taller than him

Your cold sneer next to that goofy grin, like he knows he's totally lucked out having such a hottie for an s/o

To many in the greed ring, he was the greediest of all, but when they came up top to the sinners realm and met some of the overlords that roamed the lands, they started to realize that yeah, maybe Mammon wasn't so bad

While Mammon used to attract many fans, ever since you two became an item, they've stayed far, far away

At first, he hated it because it meant he couldn't scam some pathetic sinners

But you had the idea that he could come by your casino for official meet and greets; that way, people would pay the entrance fee for you and him for just fucking around in a casino all day

Mammon is actually kind of an airhead at times

He isn't stupid, but he isn't all there, especially when with you; he just turns his brain off and lets you do the thinking

You're better at it anyways

During extermination, you can't go down and be safe with him; he will often come up just to ensure your safety

Sure, you seem scarier, but that's only because he is in his smaller form

You two are a literal power couple; you could take over all of hell if you tried hard enough

Striker always preferred to stay away from the pride ring

Sinners were such a hassle, especially keeping up with the overlords and what they considered 'theirs'

In fact, he'd stay in wrath all the time if he could, but business always called for his presence in the upper ring

He isn't stupid enough to fall into the grip of an overlord-run casino, but more than one of his targets did

Your security caught him more than once sneaking angelic weapons into your casino

The third time it happened was enough, and you came forward yourself to speak to the man

He was charming and convincing, but you weren't one to let things slide so easily

You promised he could do whatever he liked with your occupants, given that he gets their casino dues in

And well, for how much he was paid, that wasn't too terrible a deal

The two of you ended up a bit more than intertwined, though, and the assassin managed to worm his way into your heart

And god, was it ever a sight

One of the oldest overlords that towered over anyone that came before them, with a face like a funeral, next to an imp

An imp no one really knew, either

At the end of the day, the only people who dared question you were other overlords, but they tended to leave their noses out of others business, respectfully or not

While you could defend yourself rather well, Striker is more than happy to handle anyone who dares try to touch you

Interrogations are useful, you know; that way, he can kill off the whole chain of command

He's very romantic and gentlemanly with you, even if you don't ask for such from him

Don't think your position of power will ever make him feel like he is the lesser; he will take good care of you no matter who you are

Author's Note - Thank you so much for requesting, I'm glad you got a chance! It was a nice break going back to some Helluva Boss characters (not that I hate writing hazbin, but it was a lot of requests).

[threepandas]

Bad End: Preserve Us

You know how in conservation biology you sometimes try to introduce a pair to be mated and one will just... just fuckin' merc' the other? Just absolutely obliterate them in a hissing, growling, nightmare ball of fury? Before anyone can stop them? Territorial and (to put it lightly) "uninterested", dispite your desperate desire to save their species from extinction, and need for them to get frisky?

I know.

Holy SHIT do I know.

There's a lot of reasons. Ways you can (hopefully) get around it. But first? Is finding out WHY it happened. Was it just the one? The environment? Were they sick? Or... as is the case sometimes, did they decide their Handler was their mate? Some species only mate once. Are loyal for life. You gotta work around that.

Which is all well and fine and good.

When we're talking about ANIMALS.

Non-sentient, non-sapient animals! Not ALIEN SPECIES! What the ABSOLUTE FRESH HELL did they expect from me!? Compliance?! This was UNETHICAL! Monstrous! I had been trying to slip my gaurds long enough to radio for help SINCE I GOT HERE.

I hope the fuckers ROTTED in whatever their Gods considered a Hell.

"Conservation facility" my ENTIRE ASS. You can't run CONSERVATION EFFORTS like this on SENTIENTS. Eugenics loving, atrocity fetishizing, immoral BASTARDS!!! And they KNEW it too. They HAD too! Or they wouldn't be HIDING it! Fucking KIDNAPPING scientists! Biologists! Doctors!

I was on my ways to study Lekku monkeys!

God...

I'm? I'm so tired of being pissed.

Furious and outraged and SCARED. Horrified and sick. There are PEOPLE here. Kids! And I don't... oh god, I don't... H-How LONG has this been going ON? Why did no one NOTICE?

Every day I feel my heart break. The desire to scream and scream and never STOP, grow inside me. I have to get out. I have to get us ALL out. Get these people FREE. Do SOMETHING. But I am forced to "conserve" the species assigned to me. The group assigned to me.

It's killing my love for the field. Making a mockery of everything I worked for.

I don't... I don't think my hands will ever be clean again.

But I have to help. Do everything I can. Make hell a little kinder, if nothing else. At least while I figure out a way OUT. My group deserves better. The groups I do not work with, deserve better.

I disguise games as "testing". Pages and pages of meaningless numbers ans scores. INSIST that enrichment is the key to success. Diet is EVERYTHING. Oh, and habitat? Well unless we can mimic their habitat there's no WAY they'll "breed".

No, no, using machines would stress them out too much.

It's like you DONT want babies!

Who's the expert here? That's RIGHT! Dr. Cho, but FAILING her and like five other people? Me. And I know for a FACT they are pulling the same scam. We ALL fucking hate you. Dr. Cho has KIDS, you FUCKS. Hasn't seen her son in YEARS thanks to you bastards. He was engaged. She's probably missed his WEDDING thanks to you!

Getting distracted, spiraling again, gotta stop DOING that.

It wont help anyone.

But God, if my brain doesn't slowly feel like it's shorting out the longer I'm here. Stress is called the silent killer for a reason. Or what that something else? Fuck. I can't even look it up! Bastards cut us off from the galactic web. Full information blackout. Because of COURSE they did... can't risk us rightfully calling for help.

Getting the Feds involved to shut this hell pit of a black site DOWN. Or a "whatever it truely is" site. Because it sure as SHIT has nothing to do with conservational biology. Except maybe the abuse of it.

But that doesn't help me right now.

Focus, damn it!

The Yanderens. Old, absurdly rare, nearly extinct, with a home planet they'd reduced to uninhabitable wastelands millennia ago due too... something. No one knew what. There had definitely been fighting. It WAS documented they were excellent fighters. Ruthless ones at that. But it was ALSO documented they strongly pack bonded.

There had been a lot of strongly worded warnings on what few documation my captures were able to find, translate, then shove at me. But honestly? They said the same thing about humans. Ooooh big scary persistent hunters~ oh nooooo! Watch out for the omnivores with a history of war! Sins of the father and we are defined by our diets! Class systems! Let's all JUDGE each ooooootheeeeer~!

Yeah, no. Not buying it.

Especially when the "warnings" were so damn vague and poorly documented. All "the HORRORS!" and "we barely SURVIVED!". Cause honestly? The Yanderens I was watching over? Easily the most mild and temperate individuals I had ever met. No tantrums from the kids, no big emotional meltdowns, just curiosity and at WORST? Mild frustration.

It made everything ten thousand times worse for me, that these poor people were in this hellish place. They were calm. Curious. Meant for greater, BETTER things! They should be out, playing and learning. Exploring and enjoying peaceful strolls in some art gallery or zen garden somewhere! Not... not this sterile fucking LAB.

But then M-17 loses his SHIT.

And now I'm kinda panicking. Because F-6 is not just dead, God rest her soul (she didn't deserve this. Oh god. She was so SWEET.), but M-17 might just be too, soon. If I can't find out what HAPPENED. Because if he's "feral" or "diseased" or whatever other horrifying terminology they end up using? They DO something about it.

And I can't actually stop them.

I... I don't know if it was a trauma response. Or I did something wrong. I could PROBABLY pass it off as my needing more studies into their observed "mating habits"? That... that I somehow... turned it... uuuuh... dominance battle? Shit. Where are my notes?!

F-6 is DEAD and its all my fault.

She was such a cuddle fiend too. Always excited to hear about my studies, from before. My life. Wanted to join me after we got out of here. I never should have let her volunteer. Granted, she wouldn't have taken no for an answer. Wanted to spend the pregnancy plotting our escape. Asked me to help raise the kid once we got out. Had a whole grand plan. But I...And I...

God...

I should have said NO. Insisted. It was just so hard, when F-6 had made it all sound like it would be okay. Like she had a plan and all I need to do was trust her. Believe in her. Then we could be free.

I had hoped M-17 would work best. He was always the most agreeable and quick on the uptake. I figured... well... ha ha. God, I'm such an IDIOT. I should have CHECKED. Who KNOWS what happened before I arrived? What triggered I just accidentally rammed my foot into? FUCK! I sweep everything from me desk onto the ground. Don't give I shit that I'll have to clean it up later,

I had figured M-17 would be COOL with it.

This place is getting to me, isn't it?

Why the FUCK would anyone be COOL with getting jumped? Bred like an animal? Shoved in some random ass room, with a vaguely familiar stranger, and told "now fuck. We want a literal litter from you two"? All while some biologist watchs and makes god damned NOTES!?

Of course he fought back. OF COURSE he didn't stop!

The only one there he could trust was himself.

I...I'm becoming a monster... aren't I?

Oh god.

At least we're in the satellite facility. The gaurds are definitely going to rat me out, but the news will take time to filter back. And... and the Yanderens being so "dangerous" might work in my favor. I... I can spin this. I HAVE to spin this. I can't let TWO people die for my fuck up.

I promised myself I would get as many people out as I could. I refuse to back out now. Even if that means crying, puking, then going out there to lie my ASS off. This was TOTALLY NORMAL. In fact, expected! Yep! It means that's we've determined that M-17 is the alpha Yanderen! A thing that is both REAL and possible to BE!

I rinse my mouth, stomach empty. Crying has exhausted me. But I can't give up. Too many lives count on me now. I... I wish so badly I was just a nobody again. Just some random biology student, trying to make a name for herself. Being "important" is a CURSE.

I try not to chug my water as I half stumble out of the glorified shoebox that is my bathroom into the much larger and Fancier CLOSET that is my room. Truely, no expense spared, for the captives they ripped away from their lives. So glad I am here willingly and of my own volition.

I gather myself. Finally ready to go and try to untangle the mess I have made of everything. When a deep booming alarm rattles my bones. The lights flickering to red. Blast doors slide down, SLAM shut over the transparent recessed bit of wall that counts as my window, the door to the rest of the facility.

Trapping me inside my small room.

Almost immediately after, an EXPLOSION rocks the world hard enough to knock me from my feet. Only the bed's limited padding keeping me from a nasty concussion. The edge of it still ramming painfully into my shoulder. Another explosion. Then another. I sit for a long, terrible, second stunned.

The moment passes.

I scramble on my hands and knees for the in facility communication device that I had knocked from my desk in anger, grief. Not daring to stand lest I be thrown down again. I manage to find it as the world shakes again for the fifth time. Followed by what sounds like gun fire out in the halls.

I fling myself back towards my shitty little bunk. Drag every bit of padding and protection I can, down and under it with me. If the roof goes? I want shock absorption. If shots get through the door? I want something to slow those blasts down. Anything. ANYTHING! To increase my fucked chances of surviving.

I burrito up and wriggle back as deep as I can. The world muffled but ending just outside my crawlspace. Then I desperately try to get one of the others on the line. I got nothing but chaos. Running. Running. Hiding. And Dead.

Dead. Dying.

Remember me.

And GONE.

Some of them fighting with their groups too freedom. Some being targeted right along side their captors. Others savaged by the ACTUAL animals they had been working with, the one's Galacticly deemed too dangerous for effort like this. Someone or something had set EVERYONE free. A simultaneous attack on all fronts that our captors could not put down or escape.

The Yanderens were out there.

Oh god. Please let them be okay. They wer-

My thoughts ground to a halt as M-32 LAUNCHED his tiny body onto the screen of one of the security feeds I was desperately looking through. F-6 had figured out how to get us a backdoor to them a long time ago. M-32 was just a kid. A small, soft, cuddly little thing that loved to lean against me and crawl into my lap. All cherubic cheeks and cute little curls. Shy!

Yet I watched... in mounting horror... as like a lion on some unfortunate animal, he landed on a gaurds back. Small arms going around his body in a mockery of a hug. Head tilting so he could BITE at the back of the man's neck, small hands clawing and ripping at weak points in his armor, as he screamed. Thrashed. Tried desperately to get M-32 OFF of him.

There was so much blood.

My hands were shaking. So much, I accidentally hit the next screen button. Jerked my thumb back. But... but oh god. There was F-26. Using the butt of a rifle to slam down against the head of a scientist. Again and again and again. Long after the begging and thrashing stopped. I flipped again. M-4? No... please not M-4. Not the soft spoken and wise...

I watched as he grinned, a cold thing, and shot out another joint. His foot on the chest of the head scientist who had moved him to a different group. In the background, his supervisor lay dead. They had not died quickly. The head scientist was begging. A mess of tears and pain. M-4 shot another joint, pressing his foot down harder.

I wanted to be sick.

I flipped again. And again. And AGAIN.

H...Had I known them at ALL? Like demons wearing the faces of those I'd known. People I'd trusted. Not a SINGLE ONE was... oh... oh god. F-6. Had she been too? Would I have ever known? Was THIS what all those warnings meant? I couldn't think. Couldn't breath. Had... Had never had a panic attack but... BUT-!

I wheezed.

Shook.

"Oh, Clever giiiirl~" A familiar voice sang, before a blood splattered face flickered into being on the screen in my hands. "Where aaaare yoooou~?"

M-17. He'd somehow managed to take over the security cameras. That or the communication feed. His eyes were bright. A grin on his face like I'd never seen from him. ALIVE in a way I'd never seen him. The excitement transformed his face. No longer softly doll like, but something DANGEROUS. Unhinged. His eyes dilated and deadly teeth on display.

"Come out, come out wherever you aaaare~. I have so much to TELL you! We have so much to DO! I'm going to make you MINE sweetheart! No one else can have you. So come out. I won't hurt you much, I promise! Just gotta make you mine then we can leave okay~?"

Furious snarls echoed through the halls. Male and female alike. Old and young. I... I recognized each of those voices. What was HAPPENING?

"Aaaah? Did you TRASH really think you DESERVED her? Ha! Please." M-17 grin was cruel. Mocking. "You don't have a chance in hell of taking what's MINE."

His eyes seems to shift away from unseen enemies and back, somehow, to me. Warming to something euphoric. Resting his head on his hand as if to consider me. His fingers spread, stroking his own face, as if the desire to TOUCH was simply too great. As if what he was imagining was bleeding over into the real world.

"Oh clever girl~ my clever, clever girl~♡ I can't wait til it's just you and ME. Start think of where you want to go first, okay? We're going to get married. Have that child you wanted me for. All the things you ever dreamed~♡ I'm going to have you all to myself. No more annoying others. Ah~ can't wait to find you soon!"

"But first?"

"May the best of us Win."

[wormshirt]

As someone who uses a mobility aid and has muscular tension that cause me general body and joint pain and stiffness from the hips down on both sides what would kill me with doctor who wouldn't be the running it'd be the fucking stairs. They don't always have stairs in doctor who but oh boy when they do. I can run super fast and then inevitably injure my hips and suffer through it and keep limping along through the pain but if it's a flight of stairs between me and safety I'm so dead. If I don't take those stairs 1 step at a time my knees WILL lock or my muscles will throw such a massive hissy fit that it'll take me TWICE the time it takes your average person to go up those stairs and I will be killed or kinapped or put through some strange and unusual scifi horror by step 3. The doctor and I (limping) run down 50000000 hallways and we reach the end of a hall with only a reasonably sized staircase on the other end of it and the doctor immediately starts vaulting up the steps 3 at a time until he turns around and notices that I have stopped completely at the bottom of the steps to stare at him blithely. He starts trying to get me to go up the stairs or ask what the hell I think I'm doing and I slowly lower myself back down to the ground and cross my arms over my chest and begin reciting funeral prayers with a serene smile. The big evil monster comes after me and I am eaten. Badly. The doctor yells NOOOOO really loud and cries a little maybe idk and then is emo about it for like half a season until they end up back by the staircase in a season finale or something and it's revealed that the stairs are magic stairs that preserve the conciousness of any ugly ass bitch who hates staircases enough and the doctor is implied to have know this all along. and the doctor gives me some heartbroken major depressive disorder poster child look and a little speech about how they "couldn't have come back here for blah blah excuses reasons" and I smile sweetly and say "why the fuck didn't you have an emergency exit strategy or some shit incase the guy who uses a fucking cane couldn't do some shit like go up stairs super fast because he uses a fucking cane. Hello. Not even mad. Are you stupid. You are a timelord. Your people let your gay ass fuck off to who knows where because you're the dumbest timelord ever and they couldn't stand your stupid ass. I can't believe I'm stuck on this gay ass space station with this lame ass death for all of eternity because you didn't think that the guy who struggles to go up stairs would struggle to go up stairs. You wanna know what the alien said to me before he ate me. He said hey that dude you're here with sucks so bad and is stupid and gay and lame as hell. And I would have said 'yeah lol' but then he ate me. He ate me because of stairs doctor. Stairs." And then I'd stay forever trapped with my soul in that staircase just so I could spend the rest of enternity sending spam calls and telemarketers to the tardis phone. The doctor's investigating something outside an alien bar somewhere and sees ads like XXX Brittany Wants To Spend a NIGHT With YOU Sexy! Hot Singles in your area! Call here for a night of FUN! HOT SINGLE Xxeksifloryean Milfs Looking For a MATE in GALAXIES NEAR YOU!!!!❤️❤️❤️ and softly puts a hand on the posters and goes "I'm sorry I couldn't save you....." five seconds later jerry from *TOTALLY REAL* intergalactic statefarm NOT A FAKE NOT A SCAM calls up the doctor on the TARDIS phone to ask about the doctor's insurance info. Somewhere I kick an ugly ass step on a stupid fucking staircase and break my ghost toe. I hop around and start swearing.

[eggcats]

I'm fairly sure that in my Housewife Vox AU, Alastor knows he's asexual (and maybe aromantic) because there is NO WAY Vox isn't logged the fuck in and celebrating pride in hell (he's also the embodiment of corporate pride tbh, if he can use it to scam people out of money he WILL)

The second Vox learns what being bisexual is, he immediately did research on everything for both him and Alastor, since none of this information was available when he was alive and Alastor doesn't care enough to look it up for himself (he doesn't feel the need, he's fine with his afterlife and where he's at and his relationship)

However, they're both fucking idiots who will always be bad at communicating, so when Vox DOES learn about being ace/aro it causes a Category 5 Incident because, rather than TALKING with Alastor about any of that, he just ASSUMES that this means that (somehow) he's forced Alastor into their relationship together and that Alastor secretly hates having to kiss and have sex with him

And Vox, of fucking course, doesn't SAY any of this to Alastor, so he just stops initiating anything and any time Vox does want affection or intimacy and Alastor catches on, Vox shoves him away and avoids him

This, obviously, confuses and worries the FUCK out of Alastor because he has absolutely 0 idea what he even DID to make Vox mad at him (and doing his normal "get out of trouble" card of flirting with Vox and turning Vox on isn't working and seems to be making it worse????)

It only gets resolved when (OBVIOUSLY) Rosie forces these idiots to talk to each other, and it comes out that Vox thinks he's somehow manipulated Alastor into their relationship and forces him to do things he doesn't want to do

Vox: I mean, I tell you to kiss me, and when I want to have sex and intimacy, so clearly I'm forcing you to do it!

Alastor, eye twitching, trying not to strangle his picture box: Darling, I've told you since your first year here that I enjoy doing those things With You Specifically, and that I both need AND want you to tell me when you want so I can DO THEM since I don't have the desire to on my own

Vox, sheepish: Oh, right....

Alastor, being forced into doing breathing exercises by Rosie: Did you think you also, somehow, forced me to go into rut?

Vox, hiding his face: I GET IT OKAY

(Rosie smacks Vox for all this because, for once, it's not even Alastor's fault for not communicating, it's HIS. How they're both still so bad at this after years together, she'll never know).

After all that drama, Alastor does (eventually) learn about asexuality and aromanticism, but it took a while because Vox just read the baseline definition and Spiraled instead of talking with Alastor first. If Alastor could have banned the internet after this, he would have.

[mercymermaid]

oh well, more human ax it is

the first time the pines 'meet' him, it's in the gift shop. ax is there to scout out the environment in his little 'mission' of checking up on their ward, and for their ultimate convenience, bill is right there, working as a cashier (stan likes his ability to scam people out of money, disguises it as free labor so ford doesn't get mad). this isn't how he planned for it to go, but it's a perfectly fine line of action. they probably buy something small, maybe a t-shirt or a little trinket to decorate their home dimension.

bill doesn't actually recognize them at first, too bored out of his mind to pay attention to his surroundings. he only registers the familiarity of this stranger when he looks them in the face to try and charm them into paying an extra ten bucks, and realizes that the shades of the customer's hair are insanely familiar, those dark, wide eyes, that stupid smile... ax doesn't say anything, allowing this to play out how it will, but once bill registers who exactly is standing in front of him, it's obvious.

ax can read their ward like an open book, and smile, gently greeting him. bill snaps, launches himself over the counter at the axolotl, because how dare they smile in the face of his hopeless fate? he pins them to the floor, but only because ax knows he needs it, and they allow it to happen. they bear fist after fist to the face, letting bill get his anger out, even allowing him to have the satisfaction of hearing them let out a deadpan "ow". it's only once he manages to nick their cheek on the rough floor do they gently wrestle him off.

midway through this, stan barges in, ready to tell off a bitchy customer, and is greeted with the sight of bill trying to rain hell upon this random stranger. he calls ford to deescalate, and they manage to separate bill from ax (ax does most of the work, subtly shoving the former dream demon off of themselves.)

ford, ashamed of the fact that he allowed bill to roam free enough to beat someone up, offers to help patch up ax. (stan throws in a clause of "this never happened, so shut up about it", ford is unhappy with this, but ax agrees for the sake of the joke.) ax definitely doesn't need this, considering they are still a god, just in the shape of a human, and are perfectly capable of dealing with these tiny injuries. however, they do want to familiarize themselves with the pines on a slightly deeper level, for the sake of their mission, so they allow themselves to be taken care of.

they introduce themselves as alex, since 'axel' would be too obvious, but 'alex' was close enough (they wanted to keep their identity a secret, still for the sake of this damn mission). the mystery twins are sent in to entertain this stranger (ford and stan went to hunt down some ice), and mabel is immediately drawn to the fact that this man is wearing a sweater vest over a rainbow hawaiian shirt, and socks with sandals. she likes their eclecticness. dipper is more drawn to the sense of vague familiarity and the obvious feeling of oddness surrounding the stranger.

ax allows mabel to paint their nails as an apology, and engage in a surprisingly philosophical discussion with dipper (he's ecstatic to talk to someone smart that isn't ford, as much as he loves his grunkle). bill is in the other room, fuming, waiting for the twins to leave so he can give the overgrown fish lizard a piece of his mind, ignoring the fact that he would literally be dead without their intervention.

they leave eventually with two extra ice packs, but it's far from the last the pines (and, begrudgingly, bill) see of them. they consistently run into each other in town and on adventures, until slowly, this alex becomes an unofficial part of the shack's dysfunctional gaggle of people.

[softxsuki]

hi!!! I saw your valentines letter event and wanted to request a little idea I had when I saw it! A prohero!katsuki and civilian fem!reader who are in an established relationship of a few years, maybe even married if it fits the plot better. He calls her “star” and is sending the letter from a foreign country while on a mission— maybe she gets it as a delivery with flowers.

The writing would consist of him admiring her little traits that she thinks go unnoticed, like a habit of her drawing little figures on notes she packs in his lunch. He’d be apologizing for not being there in person and wanting to make it up to her, he leaves a note to her at the end telling her to call him at a certain time, with a tiny drawing of his own.

idrk about a genre but like cute vibes that arent too cheesy😭🤞

-⭐️(idk if someone used that already🧍🏽‍♀️)

Bakugou's Love Letter To His Fiancée

This event is now CLOSED, but you can view the masterlist for the other letters here.

| Pairing: Bakugou x Fem!Reader| Genre: Fluff| Post-Type: Letter | Word Count: 980 |

Warnings: none? idk

Note: Happy Valentine's Day! Hope you like your letter from Bakugou :)

It wasn’t easy being the fiancée of a pro hero. And moments like these were especially hard. Your soon to be husband and lover of several years was currently out of the country on an important mission.

It was torture trying to sleep at night wondering if he was okay or not. Contact was sparse since you didn’t want to accidentally interrupt him at an important time, so most of your conversations were made when he called you first.

Today was different though, it was Valentine’s Day. Walking through the streets and seeing all the couples walking hand in hand, all the ads on being in love, and countless vendors selling flowers and chocolates for people to buy and give to their significant other–it made you feel especially lonely.

Of course, Bakugou was never into these “idiotic” holiday traditions that he called a scam to get money from people, but every year he always gave in and treated you to dinner, taking the day to spend it with you, his love.

You sigh, walking past another couple walking with interlocked hands as the woman carries a huge bouquet of flowers in her arms. Right now you just wanted to be in Bakugou’s arms where he could hold you and whisper tender words in your ears in the privacy of your home–you missed him.

It was already the evening when you finally arrived back at your home for the day from work, trudging yourself up the stairs, but a package caught your eye. It was addressed to you, yet you couldn’t remember ordering anything for yourself.

You lift the box in your hands before looking at your surroundings like Bakuogu taught you, before opening the front door and entering your home. You lock the door before placing the box and your belongings on the kitchen counter, opening the box.

Inside is a beautiful bouquet of flowers along with a note that reads;

Y/N,

Happy Valentine’s Day, star. Can’t believe I’m doing this, but I walked past this flower shop during patrol in this country and these flowers reminded me of you. They kinda look like stars and coincidentally are called starflowers. Hopefully the shitty mail carriers listened to the fragile sticker on the box and they still look decent.

I’m sorry I can’t be there with you today, I’m sure you’re feeling lonely, hell…even I am and I don’t even like this stupid holiday or whatever. I miss your messages in my lunch along with those ridiculous drawings you add in. I miss waking up beside you and watching you rest peacefully before getting up for work, I miss having you in my arms. Dammit star, I miss you. I miss you like crazy, it’s taking everything in me not to just leave this mission to damn Deku and coming back home to you.

I want to make you my wife already, I want to be your husband, I want you. But I can't leave, not yet anyway. I’ll do what I can to get to you as soon as possible and I’ll make it up to you when I get back. We can go out and do whatever you want for the day, I’ll be all yours for the whole day with no interruptions, just say the word. 

But for now, I hope those flowers make you feel at least a little loved. I love you…call me when you get this. It doesn't matter what time it is, just call me. I’ll pick up. See you soon.

Kats.

You wipe the few tears that fell from your face after reading his letter, laughing a little at the small drawing he did at the bottom of the letter. His attempt at trying to draw for you like you always did for him. Cute.  Who knew Bakugou could be so romantic? It was the first letter he had ever written you, and it was beautiful.

You quickly grab your phone and hit his contact name, giving him a call like he asked. After a few rings he picks up, sounding out of breath.

“Kats? Are you okay? Did I call at a bad time?”

“Nope, perfect timing actually, just finished working out. I guess the package arrived? Did you like it?”

“Of course I did,” I cry out, “I wasn’t expecting that at all. Thank you, it was a great surprise.”

He laughs on the other end, feeling proud of making his girl happy, going on and on about how you shouldn’t have expected anything less from him.

“Hmm and that drawing was cute as well,” you tease, and he starts grumbling on the other end of the line, muttering for you to hush.

As you spoke to him on the phone, you felt the loneliness slowly leave your body, it was nice to just talk to him like this even if you couldn’t be together. Hearing his voice was still comforting.

“Alright, I should probably head out, it’s nearing midnight now and I have the night patrol tonight, so I have to get going. You made sure to lock the door when you got in right?” He asks, the sound of him shuffling into his hero suit fills your ears.

“Of course I did. It’s locked and the alarm is on. Go be a hero,” you smile to yourself, “I love you. I’ll talk to you later”

“Good girl. I love you too, talk to you soon.”

And then the line went dead, your heart doing a little loop at his choice of words.

Though you couldn’t spend the day of love with your lover, you were glad that he thought of you and sent you something that made him think of you. It was definitely another Valentine’s Day you’d remember, but you couldn’t wait for him to finally return home so you could be in his arms again.

Posted: 2/14/2024

[valkyrieandstrangeridingaragorn]

Have you seen this very long post on why Stark was completely right in CW? I understand you enjoy picking these types of metas apart

tumblr.com/protect-anthony-edward-stark/654070608511041536/as-some-people-seem-to-not-understand-or?source=share

Wow, I hadn't seen it and it's uh... well, it's really something. 🤦‍♀️ That's a long-ass post and this is a long-ass answer, so more after the cut.

Posts like this one really prove that the Accords propaganda worked on a lot of fans, the word "safety" is uttered a few times in there as if those documents had any intention of keeping people "safe" from the Avengers or the enhanced. At this point I wonder, do these fans consider the enhanced as "people" at all?

It is quite scary that some are so quick to give up on freedom in order to gain in security, especially when these exact words are something Zola says in TWS. That guy was Hydra, folks.

Then, all that talk about Stark feeling guilty and blaming himself for everything... I do believe there might be some truth to that but that's just the thing, feeling guilty is free. If the result of all his actions is him going back to his luxury home and never having to pay for all his mistakes while those around him have to either go on the run as fugitives or serve time in jail or have to spend months in house arrest... what can I say, I'm gonna have a problem with that.

He felt responsible for that American kid's death, yes. What about Pietro though? What about the other Sokovians? There's a young woman in the team who lost her brother and her home that day... did he ever care about that?

It's interesting that OP mentions Steve having to go outside the law to find Bucky, but of course they don't mention he's forced to do that because the American government, the same that tried to force the team to sign the Accords, had sent the CIA to kill an innocent man on sight despite having no actual evidence of a crime. And regarding Stark offering "medical care" to Bucky in the US... why is Stark even offering that in the first place? What authority does he have to do that? He's not an Avenger anymore, he's a civilian, he had no power to suggest such a thing, he was talking out of his ass.

Also, suggesting to someone that they sign a document and only after that those papers can be modified is a scam. Anyone who has ever signed a contract knows that, it's not difficult to understand.

But there's something that I have read so many times and I still don't understand: "At this moment Steve was close to signing". No, he wasn't? He was listening to Stark trying to understand the situation, but I never saw him thinking about signing. What these stans misread is that Steve was NEVER against accountability, if anything he's the one who was completely game with that. It's Stark the one trying to direct the blame for his actions elsewhere. So of course Steve was going to listen if presented with a chance to get some accountability... the problem is he understood full well the Accords were NOT that.

Regarding Wanda, it's kind of infuriating to read that she was locked up in a luxurious facility so why is she complaining. Well, maybe because that house arrest was illegal? Because it was trumping her civil rights? Because Stark had no authority to do such a thing? Also, it's funny that OP says Stark had Vision with her because he knew she liked him -- he chose Vision because he's the most powerful one.

And I don't see how Stark could possibly protect her from the blame she might receive when she was being blamed for Lagos way before Ross showed up with the Accords. That incident is the reason she was locked up despite the fact that she saved everyone on that street. We're okay with locking up the heroes for a crime committed by the villains? I sure as hell I'm not.

Regarding Peter, OP says Stark took time to get to know him before "recruiting" him. Yeah, he took time to realize Peter was ideologically on Steve's side at which point he deliberately chose to withhold the reason why they were fighting, he lied to Peter and took him out of the country without informing his legal guardian. But hey, he was a 15-year-old kid, it's not problematic at all. "He wanted to keep him safe". You know how you keep that kid safe? At his own home and not in a fight in a German airport.

OP: "It's better to stay together as a team than go outside the law". Nope. Not at all. Not like this. Not when signing those Accords take the civil rights of a good portion of the population and half the team. What does "stay together as a team" even mean? At this point you gotta ask yourself why do the Avengers exist at all?

Then OP claims Stark "tried to avoid the fight" in the airport, which is kinda funny considering he refused to listen to Steve and he's the one who started the fight, and then this gem: "Team Cap goes against the law, ignores 117 countries, and tears the team apart."

Yeah... and why? Steve tells them about Zemo but does Stark and his team care? Nope. And at that point we all thought he was going to use those Winter Soldiers to his advantage, so yeah they were forced to go outside the law.

As an aside, all this "go outside the law" is said so many times, it's kinda weird. Are we back to the thought that if something is made law that means it's morally right? Surely we know better than that, yes?

Then, the Raft. So Stark "didn't know" they would be kept in a prison such as that but the same guy who hacked the helicarrier not two minutes after arriving in it in The Avengers doesn't have a damn second to get his ex-teammates out of the Raft? He didn't tell Steve about it either, how long were Clint, Sam, Wanda and Scott there? He cared oh so much according to OP... well, he sure as hell didn't show it.

But of course, we reach the point where OP says Steve knew it had been Bucky who killed the Starks. I think there's enough meta on this site to prove that's a lie and Steve had no way of knowing it had been Bucky, but I want to point out this scene OP includes in their post:

They claim this is proof Steve knows, but what I see here is Steve trying to put the focus on himself and his so-called "lies" in order to take the spotlight off of Bucky and have Stark focus on him. Because they know each other and at that point maybe Steve thinks he wouldn't attack him - and he knows in which state Bucky is. He's trying to protect him, this is not an admission of guilt.

Oh and, OP claims Steve and Bucky attack Stark? Nope, he's the one who attacks first. But OP is right, Stark does return home after he almost had an innocent man killed. No consequences at all, as per freaking usual.

Look, I won't deny Stark had a lot of issues and I think IM3 did a pretty good job with that. But the thing with this guy is... he's not well. He's supposed to be a morally grey character who makes mistakes and is amazingly flawed and the only way his character can develop and evolve and improve is if everyone around him calls him out on his shit, if he pays for his actions and he understands what he has done wrong. But the MCU right post-AoU decided no one would ever do that and he would be framed forever as 100% right, so we ended up with a character who never learned a damn thing, continued making the same mistakes over and over again, had the gall to call others out while having his own actions swept under the rug and he got a heroic death scene in EG and a funeral and tributes in other movies whereas other characters, mostly Natasha, were completely put aside like they were nothing.

That kind of treatment gets him so damn close to villain territory... which is a shame because he shouldn't be there. But alas... Phases 1-3 were the Stark Cinematic Universe, unfortunately.

[disregardcanon]

i'm thinking about a npmd the good place au and HOO BOY the ideas

it's a season 1 setup, with tinky as the architect of the neighborhood.

... good janets are petes and bad janets are teds. OUR pete is the neighborhood's pete and he's just kinda. trying to get by. shit's weird, guys. he doesn't remember how he got here and all his protocols have been messed up and the guy that took him isn't very nice. but this is- it's fine. it has to fine (there's no other choice.)

grace chastity is still adjusting to the idea that the christian god isn't real. she is not enjoying that very much, but she IS validated by the idea that her actions as a christian got her into The Place Where Good People Go. her actual exploits like mission trips and getting dances canceled and running abstinence camp are what are brought up during the Look How Cool We Are Welcome to the Neighborhood gala.

steph has been assigned to be her soulmate. she isn't supposed to be here. she's not like, an ABSURDLY bad person for anything, she just. was raised by solomon lauter. so she got the hell out of dodge after graduation and MAYBE she did some scams to get by after that. and like maybe she knows how to make a molotov cocktail and has used one once or twice. she certainly isn't The Best Person Who Did All These Things To Help the World and Support Great Liberal Causes that they keep saying she is. (she... wishes she was. though.) and these bible studies that her soulmate (soulmate???? THE FUCK) grace chastity keeps trying to force her to do so not to out her to the authorities as A Mistake Who Should Not Be Here. really aren't helping. (like come on. grace still insists that it's bad to be bisexual but look who her soulmate is? STEPH! so maybe steph knows more about how to adjust to this new world that little miss evangelist does)

ruth fleming is the first recorded case (according to tinky) of a Human Without a Soulmate in the history of humanity. just her fucking luck. she can't even get the robot guy to fuck her. ughgggghhh. you spend your life writing high quality erotic for lonely people and it gets you into heaven! but it doesn't even get you a partner. fuckin' rude

max jagerman doesn't think that he did anything wrong. he was the king of hatchetfield high, and then hatchetfield community college, and then he managed to fight his way to a backup quarterback spot on the jacksonville jaguars (this is the good place it will be the jaguars). and then! he's the REAL quarterback! if patrick ma-fucking-homes would just drop dead he'd be the most famous quarterback in the united states, thank you!

but when he dies... the guy doesn't tell him congrats on all the success. he doesn't even recognize that this is MAXWELL JAGERMAN! the quarterback who should be the most famous and well-respected in the united states. he makes some weird references to how... ambition... is... bad? and that those that hurt other people are... bad? says something about being a channel of peace or whatever? and that if this was a mix up then max is free to go to "drowsy town"? whatever the fuck that means.

so when he says "but you're not an ambitious bully that hurt others to get where you were! you're a super nice silent catholic monk who promoted peace on earth, right?" and max just.... stares.

"do you want to keep up your vow of silence? you can just nod." and max... does. because what the fuck do you say to that? shit shit shit shit shit shit FUCK

his "soulmate" is richie lipschitz, warrior for the sanctity of other people's art. why, if his youtube channel that makes fun of other people's bad art and takes and uses his fan base to come after much smaller creators isn't a net positive in the world, then what IS? some loser who doesn't understand anything complaining about the fascist implications of attack on titan on the internet? HA! (richie is disappointed that his soulmate isn't someone better, who likes him, but it was never going to live up to rei or asuka anyway. so he'll live)

he's the only one who knows max, and they went to high school together. max was the exact sort of bully that he was in canon. and it takes a LOT of sweet talk about how richie's the one who's actually supposed to be here to get him to stay quiet about the Max Actually Being an Awful Football Player and Not That Cool Silent Monk thing.

ruth and richie become friends through a series of sitcom tomfoolery. the sitcom tomfoolery is mainly Dragging The Poor Robot Into Playing Games and then Getting Mad That He's Better At The Games Than They Are. also ruth getting frustrated that the robot does not want to fuck her. (it's not because the robot does not want to fuck she's just not his type)

steph knows that she recognizes that silent monk guy from somewhere but can't quite put her finger on it, and she knows that something is VERY wrong here.

grace is developing a crush on her soulmate and does not know how to do that. (does being a soulmate count as marriage? is it actually bad to be gay when god doesn't even properly exist? did her actions matter since she wasn't serving a real god? what do you do with an EXISTENTIAL CRISIS IN THE AFTERLIFE?!?!?! ugh stomachache.)

max wants to figure out how to go back to being The Coolest Guy Ever, FUCK YEAH (he can't even shout go nighthawks or jacksonville jaguars, because he can't talk! it sucks!) but he knows that his soulmate Will Not Help. the guy, unreasonably, is still holding high school against him. and also everything else that max has legitimately messed up since then. (ha, it's almost like. consequences to your actions-) and then he meets grace chastity, biggest prude and most Sure of Herself in This Entire Place.

and he's in love <3 he prostrates himself in front of her and BEGS her to help him become "a good person" so that he can stay here. and grace is like i really don't have time for that i have to teach my own Secretly Shitty Soulmate the bible. and steph's like uh you can just. stop doing that. i'm really not interested-

and grace is like NO YOU ARE NOT LEAVING ME YOU BEAUTIFUL CHARMING SEDUCTRESS! and steph's like ugh. did i finally cure this girl's internalized homophobia in time for her to just. not leave me the fuck alone? fuck

so a max who, in theory, wants to learn grace chastity's version of Good Personhood so that he can earn his spot here and become Coolest Guy in the Good Place, King of Good Place High, and mainly just wants to spend time with her and get her to like him, grace who is having a bisexual panic attack and also fighting off existential dread, and steph, who knows that there is something very very wrong here and that grace can't help her with morality but also. has not figured out what's wrong or who can. is just stuck here while the other two flirt and grace occassionally remembers to make googly eyes HER way instead of max jagerman's. who IS the famous football player. what a fuckin' world

steph starts trying to research What the Fuck Is Wrong Here, and realizes that max's soulmate, richie, and tragically unattached ruth are befriending the Robot with Godlike Knowledge. and she's like oh wow i could probably utilize that in my Research.

more sitcom shenanigans occur. grace and max stop noticing that their third wheel isn't attending bible studies and they become more and more them just dancing towards sexual encounters.

steph uses her con artist raised by a politician (other type of con artist) skills to notice more and more strange fuckery, as things with the world start spiraling further and further out of control.

"you're pretty funny. you know, for a robot."

"not a robot."

"then what are you, exactly?"

"... a spankoffski?" and steph feels really bad for laughing.

she gets figured out as Not Who She Appears to Be and has to go through this big long contrived process to get to stay in the good place instead of getting shipped off, and it just seems... like so much. they bring up reps from the bad place and the stakes seem so contrived.

ruth and richie shenanigan together by Trying to Find The Swinger Soulmate Pairs while steph tries to figure out why, exactly, nothing feels real. and it feels less real when the walls start to enclose and she might be getting removed from the good place entirely.

the bad place representatives show up: another weird guy with another weird name and his own robot.

the bad place even has their own version of pete- a weird, horny bastard who won't answer anyone's questions and just complains the whole time. but why would that demon that they brought up be... willing? to let them cut a deal? why does their architect seem... weirdly chummy with them? they act almost the same, treating their robot right hands with the same amount of... callous contempt. perhaps the Ted "deserves" it, but-

... why isn't tinky kind to pete? pete might not be HUMAN, but he's still... sentient. he has thoughts and feelings and he's her favorite company in this godforsaken place- and tinky is supposed to be the creator of a place that's good and just.

what exactly are their numbers indicating? why is everything so confusing and bullshit and-

she runs out to the lake, just to clear her head. sit by the water and watch. she pulls her knees up to her chest and wraps her arms around them.

"hey pete?" she asks. the well-dressed robot materializes beside her. sitting cross-legged.

"everyone has... points, right? that's how they figure out if you go to the good place or the bad place?"

"that's correct."

"who has the most points here?"

"you."

steph chuckles. "good one, spankoffski. i didn't know you could joke on purpose"

he tilts his head in confusion. "it wasn't a joke."

"i- what?"

"there are only 5 sets of numbers here. yours is the highest. it's been going up steadily ever since you got here."

steph just stares. "pete, there can't- there's hundreds of people here. why would only 5 of us have numbers?"

"only humans have numbers," he says simply. and oh god, oh fuck, oh shit-

"how did you get here?" she asks softly.

he looks thoughtful for a moment. "i... don't remember."

so steph gathers up the five other humans and they break their way into tinky's office, pete in tow.

and he's like "huh. what are you all doing here together?"

the other four humans are still confused, but steph is a forceful personality and convinced them this was the only way to fix things.

"go ahead and send me to the bad place," steph says, "i thought about it, and i don't want to keep making things so HARD on all of you. i was soooo selfish in life, but i don't want to keep that up."

tinky looks anxious. "oh steph, you aren't a burden."

she smiles. "but i thought i wasn't even supposed to be here?"

"we've made it work," tinky promises.

steph laughs. "i don't think so. this show reminds me what my dad would do, when he wanted to seem like he was fighting for something politically that he already had set up. it's all a show, right?"

tinky grins tightly. "i don't know what you mean."

"you're not sending me to the bad place, because i'm ALREADY THERE!" she declares. the other humans gasp. pete looks unfazed.

tinky blinks. "i don't know what you're talking about."

"there are only 5 sets of numbers here," steph says, "and guess whose is the highest? MINE! and i'm not even supposed to be here."

"two clerical errors? really?" steph demands.

"things happen," tinky says.

"and the three that got here fair and square?" steph asks, "we have a self-righteous church girl, a bullied youtuber who started bullying people himself, and an erotic writer. of teacher/student!" steph laughs, "come on, you're telling me that THOSE are the best humanity has to offer? and that max and i both just so happpenneeddd to end up here? in error?"

tinky grits his teeth. "no one else here is even human. if they were, they'd act like it. and they'd have numbers. but they don't."

"this is our own little nightmare realm that you cooked up to torture us."

then tinky laughs, maniacal and goat-like.

"wait," grace whispers, "i'm not... a good person?"

"NO!" tinky cackles, "that was the fun! but now... someone's ruined it for all of us. we're going to have to reset everything now. are you happy, stephanie?"

she frowns. "reset?" tinky snaps his fingers, and the humans pass out on his floor.

"i'm not supposed to be here," pete says, looking with wide eyes over to the passed out humans.

"ugh," tinky says, "RESET!" and not-a-robot not-a-boy spankoffski resets too.

he has another chance at this. and another. and another. and another. and another- however many it takes to get this right. and he WILL get this right, after all. he has all the time in the world.

[venus-haze]

Working for the Knife (Mickey Altieri x Reader)

Summary: It’s been over 15 years since the Windsor College murders, not that they had ever been on your radar. That changes when you get hired at a New York marketing firm where you work closely with Mickey Altieri, alleged Ghostface killer whose charges were dropped after a controversial mistrial. Working so closely together piques your interest in each other, soon spiraling out of control. [This is an AU.]

Note: Female reader implied to be mid-20s or older, but no other descriptors are used. This is based on an anonymous request and also Timothy Olyphant being such a DILF, I had to write something like this (I had Justified era Olyphant in mind while writing this, specifically these gifsets, but you can picture whatever hehe). Creative liberties have obviously been taken. Do not interact if you’re under 18 or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 6.8k

Warnings: True crime elements (the reader engages with a lot of true crime content), but obviously this is a fictional serial killer. Mutual stalking/obsession. Sexually explicit content that includes dubious consent fantasy that involves knifeplay; spanking, daddy kink, oral sex (f. receiving). Do not interact if you’re under 18.

For once, you felt like things were going your way. After a little over three years of scraping by at your old job where you were woefully overworked and underpaid, your months-long job search finally came to an end when a mid-sized marketing firm gave you an offer you couldn’t refuse. Sure, you’d taken a huge pay raise and shifted to a hybrid schedule with your new job, but the highlight was undoubtedly Mickey, the only other person on your small team and the type of sexy older man you sure as hell didn’t mind spending your days in the office with.

With the whole company working hybrid or completely remote, people only came in sporadically, as did you and Mickey, only going in on Tuesdays and Thursdays, with the occasional Friday if needed. As a result, you didn’t get much of a chance to meet anyone else who worked there. 

Your first week was fully in person, since some of the programs you’d be using for the job were easier to learn if he were there to show you. You certainly weren’t complaining, having plenty of time to get a feel for your new coworker, silently observing and testing the waters with light flirting, which he seemed to return. Maybe you were just a little too hopeful.

“Big plans for the weekend?” you asked when five o’clock rolled around on Friday.

“Got a hot date with Netflix,” he said. “How about you?”

“My friend and I are getting drinks later, but that’s about it.”

“What’s your poison?”

“Anything under $10, if I can help it.”

He grinned. “A woman after my own heart. Don’t have too much fun.”

“I’ll try,” you said, smiling as you began packing your laptop into your bag. “Have a good weekend, Mickey.”

“You too.”

With your first week at your new gig down, you headed to a small bar in Flatbush to celebrate with your best friend and dish the highly anticipated dirt on your hot coworker. Lee was already at the bar when you’d arrived, sitting at a small table and sipping a beer she went ahead and bought herself.

“Drinks are on me,” you said. “I fucking owe you.”

Lee grinned. “Always glad to help.”

You wouldn’t have gotten the job without Lee. She helped you fudge your resume to match the experience on the job listing, gently scamming your way into the position you now held. All week you’d been texting her about how great things were going, and fawning over Mickey, of course.

After joking about ordering top-shelf liquor on your dime, Lee settled on a margarita, undoubtedly the first of many for the night. You returned from the bar with your drinks, more than ready to gush about how much better your new job was compared to the hell of your old one. Nothing could bring down your mood.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, they pay you out the ass and you don’t have to worry about health insurance anymore. Great,” Lee said over her margarita. “I wanna hear about your hot DILF coworker. No detail is too small.”

“Lee, oh my god, it’s not even fair how hot he is. Our desks are right next to each other in an L shape, and I feel like such a weirdo for staring at him all the time. He’s been so nice helping me all week, too. Maybe I’m looking too much into it, but sometimes I feel like he’s being a little flirty?”

“Is he married?”

“No ring, and no mention of any family or long-term relationship. I don’t get it, how could Mickey be single?”

“You don’t hear many people going by Mickey anymore,” she said. “Either he’s a mouse or incredibly Irish.”

“I think he’s Italian,” you mused. “Altieri sounds Italian to me.”

Lee’s eyes widened. “Shut the fuck up.”

“Wait, was that offensive?”

“No, just that you’re working with an alleged serial killer.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” you asked, but she was already busy typing away at her phone.

Suddenly, Lee’s phone was shoved in your face, a your hot coworker’s mugshot front and center in an archived New York Times article from October 1998.

SUSPECT ARRESTED IN WINDSOR COLLEGE KILLINGS

Michael ‘Mickey’ Altieri, 21, was arrested early Thursday morning in Windsor, Ohio, as the primary suspect in the Windsor College killings. Among the charges are first degree murder, attempted first degree murder and aggravated assault. Altieri has maintained his innocence and is being held on $1,000,000 bail in Windsor County Jail as he awaits trial. 

The brutal killings that made national headlines were directly inspired by the ‘Ghostface’ murders in Woodsboro, California, two years prior and coincided with the release of STAB, a film based on Woodsboro survivor and reporter Gale Weathers’ book on the murders. Survivor Sidney Prescott was a student at Windsor College and targeted yet again in the latest string of murders. Allegedly, Altieri’s accomplice was Debbie Loomis, mother of one of the two original Ghostface killers, Billy Loomis. Mrs. Loomis was killed in an altercation prior to Altieri’s apprehension by police.

You looked away from her phone screen, feeling like your head was spinning though you weren’t even finished with your first drink. “Well, if he did all that stuff, why isn’t he on death row or something?”

“There was a mistrial. It was a huge thing,” Lee said. “You’ve seriously never heard of it?”

“No. Can you send that to me?” you asked.

“Yeah, I’ll send some podcast episodes and Youtube videos on it, too. You know I’m on that true crime shit.”

It took a few more drinks for you to be able to shake off the thought of your hot older coworker potentially being a serial killer, but the rest of your night with Lee was a lot of fun. She’d been one of your closest friends in college, and the two of you lived together when you first moved to New York. You knew she meant well, but damn, did that news put a damper on things.

You returned to your apartment a little after midnight, kicking off your heels at the door and collapsing on your couch, not bothering to make the short walk to your bedroom. 17 missed texts from Lee, all links to videos and podcasts about Mickey that she recommended.

Among the links Lee had sent you was a nearly hour long Youtube video titled: ‘What Happened at the Windsor College Ghostface Trial? A Deep Dive’. The woman in the thumbnail had a scared expression on her face, her eyes focused on that same mugshot of Mickey you saw in the old New York Times article. 

Pressing on the link in your messages, you had the video come up on your TV instead, slouching back in your seat as it began to play.

‘I know most stuff about the Windsor College murders focus on just that, the murders, but I thought it’d be interesting to go into the trial that followed because it was almost like something out of a movie, but it doesn’t get as much attention as the killings, especially since there have been like two more Ghostface murder sprees since this happened. I’m just presenting facts and my own observations here for educational purposes, and it’s not my intention to imply guilt on anyone who hasn’t been convicted in a court of law. Before we get into it though, I wanna give a huge thank you to BetterHelp for sponsoring today’s video—‘

You rolled your eyes, skipping through the three-minute long sponsorship spiel.

‘So my sources for this video are Gale Weathers’ books Wrongly Accused: The Maureen Prescott Murder, The Woodsboro Murders, and College Terror. I also used James Chase’s book Ghostface on Trial, articles from newspapers and a few like lawyer journals that I was able to find online, and whatever stuff from the trial itself that’s public information. I have it all linked in the description—“

Pausing the video, you pulled up the New York Public Library website and searched for College Terror and Ghostface on Trial. Copies of both were available at the branch near your office, and you wasted no time in putting a hold on the books. 

The next few minutes of the video gave an overview of the murders at Windsor College, which you half-paid attention to. You’d watched Stab 2 in high school, so you felt you were familiar enough with the killings. Thinking back on the movie, though, all of the characters had the same names as their real-life counterparts except for Mickey. Legal reasons, you assumed.

You turned up the volume on your TV as the video finally got into the details of the trial.

‘As soon as Mickey was arrested, theories were all over the news about what had happened and there was a ton of speculation about his guilt. James Chase, a controversial defense attorney from Chicago, took on the case pro-bono, stating in his book Ghostface on Trial that he knew he stood to make more money on a book deal, interviews, and speaking engagements by winning the case than whatever fees he’d get for representing Mickey. The defense focused on discrediting both of the prosecution’s star witnesses early on in the trial, planting seeds of doubt in the jury.

Chase and his team leaned heavily on the fact that three years prior, Sidney Prescott had incorrectly identified Cotton Weary as her mother’s killer when in fact it was Sidney’s former boyfriend Billy Loomis and their mutual friend Stu Macher who had committed that initial murder that led up to the original Woodsboro Ghostface murders. 

Gale Weathers’ testimony was also discounted by the defense on the fact that she was a sensationalistic tabloid journalist who’d admittedly fabricated elements of her best-selling book on the Woodsboro killings. She claimed this was a result of editing and to achieve a better narrative flow. 

The defense also said the deceased Debbie Loomis had more of a reason to go after Sidney and recreate her son’s Ghostface murders as revenge for his death. They pushed the idea that she acted with Sidney’s boyfriend, Derek, and that Mickey ended up getting caught in the crosshairs of what was a gruesome and unfortunate situation. Sidney maintained Derek’s innocence, but the fact that both he and Debbie were killed by gunshot wounds made it likely they were the Ghostface duo this time around.

Former Woodsboro Deputy Dewey Riley, another survivor of both Ghostface killings, was unable to testify because he was in a coma. He later said that because he was incapacitated before Sidney and Gale allegedly confronted Debbie and Mickey, he couldn’t say for sure who the killer or killers were, but he trusted their judgment and stood behind their testimonies. 

It didn’t help either that Sidney was visibly distraught while on the stand and mixed up details of the original Woodsboro murders and the Windsor College ones. Gale was initially confident while being questioned by the defense, but later became combative when the inaccuracies in her books came up. In contrast, Mickey appeared calm and earnest, and seemed to have his story straight every time he took the stand.

There’s actually some footage of the trial that I was able to find, so I’m gonna play that now.’

The video was grainy, camera focused on an agitated-looking Sidney Prescott sitting in the witness stand. On the other side of the stand, a blond man in a gray suit read off from a stack of papers in his hand. 

“Ms. Prescott, in your statement to police, you claimed that Mr. Altieri admitted to both you and Ms. Weathers that he had committed the murders with Debbie Loomis and wanted to get caught. Could you perhaps explain to myself and the jury, why exactly an alleged killer would want to get caught?”

“Because he’s fucking sick in the head!” Sidney exclaimed.

“Language, Ms. Prescott,” Judge Matthews said.

“He said he did it on purpose,” Sidney continued, her voice breaking. “He told us he wanted to get caught so he could blame it on the movies! He had everything planned out, the lawyers he wanted, the angle the media would take, he even quoted that line from Psycho, ‘We all go a little mad sometimes.’”

Chase furrowed his brow as he looked over the papers in his hands. “When did he say this? I’m not seeing that in your statement.”

“He said it right after he shot Randy,“ Sidney said.

“Randy wasn’t shot, he was stabbed.” 

Sidney’s eyes widened. “I know. I meant—“

“Ms. Prescott, is there something you didn’t include in your police statement that you’re telling us now?”

Her voice was barely a whisper. “Billy quoted Psycho, after he shot Randy at Stu Macher’s house, not Mickey. I got mixed up.”

You gasped, bringing your hand to cover your mouth. The courtroom on your screen devolved into nothing short of pandemonium. The video then faded into Gale Weathers in the middle of being questioned by the defense. She, in contrast to Sidney, looked confident and well-put together under Chase’s grilling.

“Ms. Weathers, you wrote in your book that your camera man Kenny was gutted, when in actuality his throat was slashed, is that correct?”

Gale nodded. “It is.”

“Why the inconsistency?” 

“All books, fiction or nonfiction go through an editing process. That was a decision made by my editor to establish a better narrative flow. It isn’t uncommon in the true crime genre by any means.”

“Better narrative flow isn’t the truth, though, is it?” Chase asked.

“Look, a book is a book. I’ll say right now under oath that Kenny was killed when one of those guys in the Ghostface costume slit his throat. I’ll also say under oath that Mickey Altieri did commit those murders with Debbie Loomis, and he confessed it to me and Sidney Prescott.”

“Your honor, this isn’t the only major inconsistency we’ve found in Ms. Weathers’ book on the Woodsboro murders. Yesterday we distributed to the prosecution and now present to the jury at least seventeen of these major inconsistencies.”

“What do you want me to say? I’m the cheesy tabloid journalist everyone thinks I am?”

The corners of Chase’s lips twitched. “Not quite my words.”

“You’re a real piece of work,” Gale scoffed.

The jury murmured among themselves at her shift in attitude. You found yourself chewing on your nail, enraptured by the trial. For the last time, the video faded out and then back in to show Mickey, your coworker, sitting on the witness stand. This time, the prosecutor was in front of him, his annoyed expression a contrast to Mickey’s calm demeanor.

“Mr. Altieri, we have signed affidavits from several of your former classmates that in your film theory class, you claimed in a heated argument with Randy Meeks and CiCi Cooper, both of whom were killed by this ‘Ghostface’ persona of yours—“

“Objection!” Chase shouted. “Claiming the Ghostface persona belongs to Mr. Altieri is an undue presumption of guilt.”

“Sustained,” Judge Matthews said. “I advise you to reconsider your wording going forward, counselor.”

The prosecutor huffed. “You claimed in a heated argument with Randy Meeks and Casey Cooper, both of whom were killed by the ‘Ghostface’ persona, that violent movies were responsible for influencing people to commit acts of violence, is that correct?”

“It was a classroom discussion. Our professor had brought it up because two fellow students were brutally killed at the premier of a slasher movie the night before, by someone dressed as the killer from that same slasher movie. I just thought it wasn’t a coincidence, and neither did half the other students in that class. Are you going to make them testify too?”

“Don’t deflect, Mr. Altieri.”

“I don’t understand how I’m deflecting. You asked me about a conversation I had with my classmates, and I answered.”

The video went back to the commentator, but you had goosebumps raised across your skin. You rewound back to the clip of Mickey’s testimony, staring at his face. Could he be a killer? Only a few days ago, you wouldn’t have even considered it. Now, you were down a rabbit hole that sent your mind reeling.

‘A lot of the prosecution’s evidence was dismissed as circumstantial by the defense. Mickey had alibis for all of the murders, even for the one Sidney claimed to witness him commit, allegedly shooting her boyfriend Derek. The chat room records and emails allegedly linked to Debbie and Mickey didn’t do much to convince the jury of Mickey’s alleged involvement in the murders. The records did positively identify Debbie based on the account’s password hints and her IP address. The other user was more tech savvy, changing IP addresses to make it more difficult to confirm an identity.

In move that was described as ‘sloppy’ and ‘desperate’ by the media following the trial’s conclusion, the prosecution also tried to claim that Mickey being the only other survivor among Sidney’s friends was suspicious and indicated his involvement, but the defense pointed out that Randy Meeks had also been the only other survivor of Sidney’s friend group in the original Woodsboro killings despite a gunshot wound like Mickey had, and later on at Windsor he was a victim. 

Randy Meeks’ murder actually played a huge role in the defense’s strategy. Several Windsor College students saw Mickey elsewhere on campus during Randy’s murder. The final nail in the coffin was when Windsor County police confirmed that DNA in the news van where Randy was murdered was a match for Debbie Loomis. The police retested other evidence, but couldn’t find anything conclusive.

After weeks of questioning and evidence, the jury deliberated for a little over five days before returning to the judge in a deadlock. Judge Matthews declared a mistrial, and less than a year later, a district court dismissed the case on lack of substantial evidence and all charges against Mickey Altieri were dropped. Despite media speculation that he would, Mickey chose not to sue Sidney and Gale for defamation and hasn’t been in the public eye since the controversial trial.’

You stared blankly at your TV screen when the video ended, another one auto-playing a few seconds later. Even after your drinks with Lee, you felt way too sober to even process any of it. For the next few hours, you devoured videos, bookmarked dozens of articles, and sifted through podcast episodes to listen to during work.

The odd case had made its home in the recesses of your mind. You dreamed about him when you finally fell asleep, just before sunrise. Sitting in the downtown Manhattan office, the open floor layout was unusually bright, fluorescent lighting washing the place in an eerie white glow. Mickey walked over to his desk, blood dripping from his fingers, splattering on the carpet in a trail leading right to him. He looked at you, a smile on his face as he brought his upright, bloody index finger to his lips. 

As the weekend flew by, you tried to keep yourself otherwise occupied. It wasn’t good for you to stay fixated on it, and certainly not fair to Mickey. 

Working from home on Monday helped, as you focused on finishing the last of the onboarding process. 

Tuesday was where things became tricky again. You sat on the forty-minute long subway ride to the office equipped with a podcast episode about your new coworker. The hosts didn’t seem to have much new information from what you took in the night before, except for the last few minutes of the episode where they’d gone off-script.

‘Last I saw online, he was living in Manhattan.’

‘Oh my god, that’s so Patrick Bateman-core.’

‘So you think he did it?’

‘It’s tough to say, like I totally get why the jury couldn’t come to a consensus.’

‘Yeah same, messy as hell. I tend to think that he didn’t do it. Innocent until proven guilty, ya know?’

‘I get that. We did try to get in touch with him for some kind of statement or even an interview—‘

‘Wishful thinking.’

‘Yeah, we looked for his email address, but I guess it wasn’t the right one because our message got bounced back, so that was a big fat bust.’

‘He’s like notorious for denying interview requests, anyway. I think he turned down book deals and stuff.’

Enraptured by the conversation, you nearly missed your stop. On the three block walk to your office, you hurriedly opened one of your playlists and put it on shuffle. The last thing you needed was for Mickey to somehow see on your home screen you’d just been listening to a podcast episode about him.

Your head was spinning by the time you got to your desk. He hadn’t arrived yet, and you felt a bit relieved that you had a little more time to psych yourself up. You shouldn’t have even had to do that in the first place, just be normal about your coworker, but if you learned anything over the weekend, even if he wasn’t guilty, he sure as hell wasn’t normal.

The elevator doors opened, and you looked up to see him walk out, waving at you.

“Morning, Y/N, have a good weekend?”

“Pretty good. I’m more broke than when it started, though. How about you?”

“Like I told you, hot date with Netflix,” he said, sitting down. “Thought you were sticking with shitty liquor?”

“I was, but my friend wasn’t. I got the tab, and she got plenty of margaritas.”

“Shit, I oughta get drinks with you sometime if you get all your friends’ tabs.”

You grinned. “Don’t count your luck.”

He chuckled to himself. The two of you worked in near silence for the next three hours, though you found yourself glancing over at him every so often, out of curiosity and also admiration. His graying hair suited him, and you could see the muscles in his arms from his casually rolled up shirt sleeves. 

Soon, though, you found it hard to stay awake, the light from your computer screen adding onto your fatigue. To your horror, you yawned loudly, catching Mickey’s attention.

“You alright? I’m not too boring, am I?”

“No, I just kept waking up last night. I feel like I barely slept.”

“Why don’t we take an early lunch and go get coffee?”

“That sounds great,” you said, grabbing your purse.

There was a deli right up the block, and when you looked at the small pastry case, you decided to order something with your coffee. Mickey placed his order, a hot coffee and a bear claw. With plenty of tables to choose from, you and Mickey sat near the window. 

Your coffee definitely hit the spot, and the sugar from your pastry helped wake you up too.

“How long’s your commute?” Mickey asked.

“About 40 minutes. I live in Brooklyn, kinda between Bushwick and Bed-Stuy.”

“Damn, that’s long. I live on the Upper West Side.”

You raised your eyebrows. “Wow. Before this job, I was barely able to afford to rent on my own.”

“It’s a rent-controlled building. I’m not making a ton after alimony and child support.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

He shrugged, though he looked out the window as he continued speaking. “It was a long time ago. Deanna and me just didn’t see eye-to-eye on a lot of stuff when our son was born. I knew before he even got to kindergarten it was over.”

Unsure of how to respond, you slowly reached across the table, putting your hand over his. “I’m sorry, Mickey, really.”

“You’re a sweet girl,” he said, giving your hand a slight squeeze before releasing it. “They live upstate, so I don’t see them much. I have more time for going to the movies and Mets games.”

“I only go when they’re bad because tickets are cheaper.”

He snickered. “I should take a page outta your book. How about you? Any sports? Or reading? Isn’t true crime pretty popular with young women now?”

Your heart pounded at his question. Innocuous enough. True crime was extremely popular. The paranoid part of you couldn’t help but feel like it was an accusation. Then again, he couldn’t possibly know you’d spent the weekend immersing yourself in it, particularly stuff about him.

“I’m not really interested in that,” you said. “Sometimes my friends and I go to trivia nights at bars. I’m not that good, but it’s fun to just hang out. I have a membership at the MOMA, so I go there a lot. They show movies sometimes, too.”

To your relief, the conversation shifted to just that, and Mickey seemed surprised by some of your opinions on different movies. He told you he’d originally gone to college for film studies, which you already knew, of course. The odd thing was, while you certainly didn’t want him aware of just how much you knew about him, you didn’t feel guilty for it, just that he would be weirded out by it, obviously.

You and Mickey ended up talking about movies for nearly an hour and a half, well over your allotted hour lunch break, but he assured you no one would care that much. Still, the two of you half-ran back to the office, and something bubbled in your chest when he sat down and smiled at you, the wrinkles by his eyes becoming more prominent. 

The rest of the workday went by quickly, and you headed to the library where you’d reserved the two books about the Windsor College murders and trial. By the time you got home, you’d already devoured the first two chapters of Gale Weathers’ book. Glad to be working remotely the following day, you let yourself stay up later than usual to read, getting to the halfway point before you could hardly keep your eyes open.

Weeks turned into months, and you absolutely loved your job, and the pay, but most of all, how the content you consumed and your proximity to Mickey seemed to feed into each other in a vicious cycle that increasingly drowned out the rational part of you that knew what you were doing was weird. 

Still, it wasn’t like you were invading his personal privacy or treating him any different than you did before. All of the information you’d read, listened to, or watched was all public as your running list of books, podcasts, and documentaries on the matter grew. You’d even rewatched the Stab movies and started scrolling through threads and tags related to Mickey and what happened at Windsor College. After all of the personal research you did and how much you’d gotten to know Mickey at work, you couldn’t conclusively say whether or not he did it. 

You tried keeping your obsession lowkey, but your friends seemed to notice how you’d shoehorn it into conversations. Lee had even told you she was afraid she’d created a monster by bringing up Mickey’s past in the first place. If she’d never made her comment or showed you that first article, you probably never would’ve known about it, remaining blissfully unaware and going about your business at your typical office job with your hot older coworker.

For how much time you spent at home between work and researching, it seemed like whenever you’d go out, you’d come home to something missing or moved. Articles of clothing gone, coffee mugs out of place, books not quite in the order you’d left them. At first, you chalked it up to your consuming too much true crime content, feeding into your paranoia, but when you asked your landlord to install another lock on your door, it all seemed to stop. That didn’t bode well with you.

Your fantasies blended with reality in your dreams, as you were having increasing occurrences of Ghostface or Mickey, or both, in them. Whenever you woke up, you didn’t remember much except for a warm feeling in your core. One dream remained vivid even after you awoke, though.

You were in your apartment alone, late at night, when you got a call from an unknown number. Normally, you didn’t pick up calls unless you were expecting them, but for some reason you picked up. The details of the phone call itself were jumbled, but you were frightened, running into your bedroom and locking the door behind you. 

To your horror, you’d locked yourself in with Ghostface, the looming predator who looked at you emotionlessly, stalking toward you with his knife. When you turned around, the door knob was gone, and a black gloved hand grabbed your shoulder, moving you to face him as he pushed you against the door. He sliced through your slinky pajama top, exposing your breasts to him. Roughly groping each of them, he let out a low moan in appreciation before bringing the knife to your collarbone, dragging the blade to the valley between your breasts. Your breath hitched as he pressed it a bit deeper, but instead, you felt it in your pussy, like he was penetrating you.

“Give me a kiss, sweetheart,” your masked assailant ordered in a distorted voice.

Slowly, you leaned in, pressing your lips against the cold, hard plastic mask. You gasped as he dug the knife into your skin with one hand, his other slipping under your panties, pushing his fingers between your folds.

“I own you,” he said, clearly in Mickey’s voice this time.

You threw your head back in ecstasy as he pushed his fingers into your tight cunt, and then your alarm blared, jolting you awake. Turning over, you groaned into your pillow in frustration. At least it ended up being great masturbation material later on.

Another Thursday at work, seemingly uneventful as usual. You and Mickey had gotten into the habit of getting lunch together whenever you both were in the office. Maybe it was just wishful thinking, but as time went on, they felt more like dates than just a casual lunch with a coworker. Not that you were complaining.

“Got any plans for the weekend?” he asked in the nearby deli the two of you had begun to frequent.

“No, not really.”

“Do you wanna come over after work tomorrow? Watch a movie or something?” he asked.

“That’d be great!” you said, almost a bit too enthusiastically. “Should I bring anything?”

He shook his head, smiling a bit. “I can order a pizza.”

For some reason, you trusted yourself to be normal at his place, telling yourself throughout Friday that everything would work out fine. Being a weirdo about his alleged murders certainly wouldn’t help you get a real date with him, but your infatuation with him was only growing. You liked the slightest hint of danger about him, going to his apartment alone, wondering in the back of your mind what his true intentions were and feeling a bit of a thrill at the prospect that they could be anything less than innocent.

You showed up at his apartment that evening with a bottle of wine in hand, even though he’d told you not to bring anything. As expected, he thanked you for the wine, though he gave you an exasperated look as he let you into his apartment. Nicer than yours, but it still looked lived-in.

“Pizza will be here in a couple of minutes,” he said. “I’m thinking Mean Streets for the movie.”

“It’s a classic,” you agreed. “I love Harvey Keitel in it.”

“You know, that was De Niro and Scorsese’s first time working together.”

“Wait, why did I think Taxi Driver was first?”

“Came out in ‘76, just after he was in Godfather Part II in ‘74. Busy decade for him.”

“You’re telling me.”

The doorbell rang, the pizza arriving sooner than expected. You waited in the kitchen while Mickey dealt with the delivery.

“We can eat in the living room while we watch,” he said, carrying the pizza box inside. “I don’t have many people over, so it’s still a little messy.”

“That’s okay,” you assured him.

He put on the movie, and you balanced the paper plate on your lap, nodding along to “Be My Baby” as it played during the opening scene. Testing the waters, you scooted closer to him a few minutes into the movie. He glanced over at you, and you could’ve sworn you saw the faintest hint of a smile on his face. 

You were especially pleased when he put his arm around you, not bothering with the pretense of a “move,” but rather taking what he wanted. Settling comfortably next to him, you tried to focus on the movie.

Despite his arm around your shoulders, closer physically to him than you ever had been, you felt restless. You knew when the halfway point of the movie was, and so you excused yourself to use the bathroom, telling him he didn’t need to pause it until you returned.

The tips of your fingers itched as you passed closed doors to the bathroom, which he told you was at the end of the hall. Biting your lip, you considered your options, and in a moment of impulse and weakness, you reached for one of the door handles. A mostly empty extra bedroom, maybe his son’s old room. 

You weren’t deterred, opening another door. Jackpot. Slightly messy, with clothes strewn about the floor and on the dark sheets of his bed. Glancing behind you, you stepped into his room and looked around for anything that stood out. 

Most people hid things under their beds, and so you got down on your hands and knees, wondering where exactly he might hide his—

“Don’t think this is the bathroom,” he said, startling you.

You yelped, frantically turning around as your brain short circuited for an explanation. “I—I was just—“

“Looking for trophies? All serial killers keep them, right?” he asked, towering over you from your spot on the floor. “Mementos of their victims or the kills.”

You shook your head frantically. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have been snooping.”

“No, you shouldn’t have, but you’re looking in the wrong place anyway,” he said, pulling the knife from behind his back.

“Serial killers also don’t—don’t kill people th-they know,” you stammered.

“Typically,” he agreed, “but I’m not typical, am I? I’m sure you’ve listened to plenty of those cute little podcasts where some dumbasses read the Wikipedia page about the Windsor College murders in between hawking security systems to their listeners that they’ve just scared shitless. I admitted I did it, went to fucking trial, and the jury couldn’t even find me guilty.”

“Point taken.”

“So, what trophy would I keep from you?”

You were silent for a moment before answering, looking him in the eye. “My panties.”

“Which pair? Figure I have at least five of them now. Unless you wanna make that six, sweetheart.”

“You’ve been breaking into my place all this time.”

“You made it way too easy. It’s like you were asking for it.”

Maybe you were. Regardless, you didn’t show any resistance when he lightly kicked at your leg, a silent command to stand up. You got to your feet, though your gaze was fixed on the knife in his hand. His eyes followed yours, and he smirked a bit before putting the knife aside.

He turned you around, pushing you back onto his bed. Your breath caught in your throat as he pushed your skirt up, his hand caressing your ass, fingers brushing the thin fabric of your panties.

“Were you asking for it, sweetheart? Have you wanted this all along? Been a bad girl to get my attention?”

“Yes,” you whimpered weakly, your pussy clenching around nothing.

“Y’know, I’ve heard of serial killers having groupies, but you,” he said, slapping your ass for emphasis, eliciting a moan from you, “are something else.”

“Fuck, daddy,” you whispered, fidgeting against his mattress.

“I’m disappointed in you.” Another smack on your ass. “I could’ve been having fun with you months ago.” Smack! You hissed this time, though your pussy was pulsing between your legs. “Bent you over my desk in the office, have my way with you while no one else is around—or maybe a little slut like you would wanna get caught with daddy’s dick buried inside her.”

He spanked you harder this time, holding you down when your body instinctively recoiled at the impact. A pained moan escaped your lips as he pressed his body weight against you, his clothed cock rubbing against your tender skin. Tears welled up in your eyes as the sensation, and you resisted the urge to slip your hand between your legs.

“Or maybe,” he said, reaching around you to wrap his hand around your neck, “you just want me to fuck you before I kill you. Probably cum the minute I put that old Ghostface mask on, huh, baby?”

You let out a strangled moan at his words. “Yes, daddy.”

He released his grip on your throat, standing up to give you one more slap across your ass. “Turn over. If you’re good for me, maybe I’ll give you what you want.”

The friction from his sheets stung against your sore ass as you rolled over to look at him, though he grabbed you, pushing you onto your back himself. His grip on you was tight, fingers digging into your arms as he held you down beneath him, completely at his mercy.

He pulled off your skirt and panties, leaving your pussy exposed for him. He dragged his index finger between your folds, and you whimpered when he brushed your clit.

“God, you’re soaked,” he murmured against your lips. “Was it the spanking, or is it the serial killer thing?”

“Both.”

“Good answer,” he said, lazily circling your clit with his finger. 

He ducked his head down, wasting no time in devouring your wet cunt. His tongue relentlessly flicked at your clit while he slid two fingers inside you, pumping them in and out of your hole. You took them easily, but wondered if it’d be the same for his cock when he’d undoubtedly fuck you. 

Your hands gripped his sheets as he worked his tongue, your feet curling at the tension you felt building up inside of you. He moaned against you, loud enough that it felt like his voice rocked through your body. 

“Don’t stop,” you pleaded breathlessly.

A pained and outraged whine pulled from your throat when he did just that. You looked down at him between your legs, betrayed.

“Why should I let you cum?” he teased, rubbing light circles in your clit with his soaked fingers. “You’ve been a bad girl.”

“Oh fuck,” you moaned. “Please, daddy.”

“You can do better than that, sweetheart.”

“Please let me cum, daddy. I’ll be so good. I—I’ll do anything, just—please,” you cried out in frustration of being so close yet not quite there.

“Only since you asked so nicely,” he relented, dipping his head back down between your legs, his hands holding your hips in place as your lower half began to quiver at his touch.

You could feel his lips move slightly against your sensitive pussy, nothing short of a smug expression on his face at making you fall apart so easily. It didn’t matter, your head was swimming, muscles strained as he brought you closer to climax. Grabbing his hair, you pressed his face closer against your pussy, grinding against it in desperation. 

“Mickey—Fuck—“ you choked out as your orgasm wracked through you, fireworks in between your legs as your body shook. 

He ate you out through your orgasm, and another tidal wave of pleasure hit you all at once, almost painful and overwhelming, your brain on fire at the sensation. You could hardly catch your breath when you released your grip from his hair and he lifted his head, your wetness glistening on his lips.

When he kissed you, you hardly had the strength to kiss him back, though tasting yourself on his mouth sent a rush through you. He pressed sloppy kisses to your face, trailing down to your neck. His hard length rubbed against your slick-coated thigh, a low growl coming from deep in his throat.

“W-Wait, can I ask you something?”

“Shoot,” he mumbled against your skin.

“Did you really wanna get caught?”

He stopped, lifting his head from your neck to look at you a few moments before answering, “Yeah, blame the movies, make a real circus of the trial, but my attorney said he didn’t think I could pull off an insanity plea because I was too put together. Obviously pleading guilty and confessing everything wouldn’t get nearly as much attention as actually going on trial. I was pissed at first, but it worked out, I mean I had every reporter eating out of the palm of my hand by day three.”

“Why don’t you do interviews now? Or write a book?”

“What’s there to say? Not the truth.”

“I guess that makes sense,” you muttered. “Are you gonna kill me?”

“Probably should,” he said, the slightest smirk ghosting his lips as his eyes raked over you, “I might need more convincing not to.”